


Myosotis

by NathanielCardeu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Lemon, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NathanielCardeu/pseuds/NathanielCardeu
Summary: What would you do if you lost your memories? Not all of them… just the ones of your husband… your babies… your entire marriage. Three whole years, gone.What would you do if you couldn’t remember falling in love and once more thought of the man in front of you as an arrogant pain in the arse? What if there was a way to reclaim your life again but to do it you had to kill? Could you do it? Could you afford *not* to?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Granger Enchanted as part of a fic exchange, for minervasrevenge. Her prompt was detailed and exciting, and produced one of my favourite stories. I am, rightly or wrongly, very proud of this little tale.
> 
> None of the characters are mine, they belong to the author. I'm merely playing with them.

THE two men, in their long, brown trench coats, struggled to hold onto the spitting and struggling hell-cat. Each had an arm around the wild and bucking figure, ducking flailing limbs and biting teeth. The black and white streaked mane of hair was dishevelled and stuck out in all directions, as if the owner had taken a bolt of lightning to the crown. Clumps of it were missing, as if torn out.

“Get her out of here!” The man across the room, wiping a thin trail of blood from the corner of his mouth, was furious and yelled again at the struggling Aurors. “I want her out of here and thrown into the darkest cell you have!”

The woman kicked furiously at her captors and the Aurors held firmer as she began to shriek again. Her screams grated against their ears but they were unable to retrieve their wands without loosening their grip; their previous attempt to do so had resulted in the Lord of the Manor bleeding.

“You will always be mine, Lucius! You’re mine, you fucking shit. You are mine, not that scrawny cunt’s! Mine. Miiiiiiine!” Spittle flecked the former Lady Malfoy’s lips; her eyes were wide and staring with the light of insanity in them. Her mud stained fingers dug into the Aurors’ sleeves, the ring finger on her left hand conspicuous by its absence, now merely a scarred stump. Her clothes, whilst still fine, were ripped and torn, with dirt staining the hem.

She resembled, more than ever, her late sister, Bellatrix Lestrange.

“GET HER OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU IMCOMPETENT FOOLS!” Lucius roared, just as one Auror finally managed to level a crushing elbow to the side of Narcissa’s head. The crazed woman sagged, crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut. Both Aurors sighed and shared a glance over the unconscious body. Shifting their grips they lifted and held her more securely before leaving the Manor, stepping over the body of a house elf. The elf had tried to defend his Master and Mistress and had paid for his loyalty with his tiny life.

Lucius Malfoy breathed a sigh of his own, flicking his long blond hair out of his eyes and moving to his son, helping the young man to stand. Tilting his head upwards with a firm hand he examined Draco’s eye. “No doubt that will bruise nicely in a few hours, my boy. We’ll see if the medi-witch can do something for you when she has dealt with her charge.”

Lucius paused, looking across the dining area to where a medi-witch was examining the only other occupant of the room. Beyond the professional’s form he could see the curly, bushy mane of hair of his wife on one side, her twisted legs on the other. The medi-witch was knelt in a spreading pool of blood and Lucius grimaced and swallowed the fear in his throat. Narcissa had managed to get a number of vicious curses off before she had been subdued… not to mention the damage she had caused with Bellatrix’s knife. It was a wonder the woman was still alive after suffering such a brutal attack, he thought to himself.

As his father turned to join them, Draco touched his face gingerly, wincing as he encountered the tenderness around his eye. “Father. What will happen to mother now?”

The normally controlled man rounded on his son, his hair almost snapping like a whip. “You will never refer to that _woman_ as ‘mother’ in my presence again! Any sense of obligation we may have had to her has been destroyed by this attack, and she is to be no part of our lives, do I make myself clear?”

Draco swallowed, taken aback at his father’s breach of decorum and obvious vehemence.  “Yes, sir,” he stammered.

The elder Malfoy turned away, looking up at the ceiling and attempting to rein in his emotions once more. He didn’t look back at his son but spoke in a calm and collected manner. “As for what will happen? Whatever the law will allow me to have in payment for the damage caused to my wife.” Stepping away he joined the medi-witch and gave her instructions to convey his wife to their chambers.

At his words a small elf popped into existence, eager to serve and help bear her Mistress to her rooms. Lucius turned away, watching out the window as the Aurors passed through the burning and blackened gardens. Eventually the two men passed beyond the savaged boundaries of Malfoy Manor with their charge. Beyond the destroyed and twisted remains of the once beautiful gates they turned on the spot and Disapparated.

 _What was to be done with the dangerously insane Narcissa Black, indeed?_ Lucius mused.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	2. Chapter 2

_THE flashing lights popped and blazed behind her eyelids but she couldn’t force her eyes open. Instead she could only squeeze them closed tighter, her hands bunched into fists, then into claws as she struggled to wake up. She could feel tears trickling down her cheeks but no other external sensation affected her body; she might as well be floating._

_Above her, looming out of the darkness, her eyes blazing with that awful, insane light, was Bellatrix Lestrange. She was laughing again, flashing that accursed knife before the young witch’s eyes, threatening, tormenting her. Hermione never knew if it was going to be the knife or the curse… and over it all, at Bellatrix’s shoulder, Lucius Malfoy stood; haggard, unshaven, black circles under his eyes. He was not so in control any more._

_Hermione walked over to him, the once great man now a gaunt and almost broken figure, desperately trying to retain his dignity amongst the celebrations. She smiled tentatively and held out her hand, extending the first olive branch to the Malfoy family after Voldemort’s downfall. The Lord of the Manor stared at the proffered limb for a moment before reaching out and taking her hand. Hermione remembered the shiver that had run through them both._

_The two almost reached an understanding several times but he was so fucking arrogant that working with him was a complete nightmare! Every decision was questioned, every query met with a sneer, or a lift of those damned eyebrows. It was almost as if he was surprised to see the Mudblood come up with something useful. Two years they had been working on the damn law and he still refused to see her as an equal._

_Narcissa looked down her nose though Lucius stood up and spoke sternly to the regal woman. Speaking in Hermione’s defence was so unlikely that both women stared at the man, as if he had begun to breathe fire from his ears. It was the beginning of the end for Lucius and Narcissa; pushed away once too often, the proud woman threatened to take Draco and leave, screaming matches shaking the very walls at the Ministry, the subject of their words ignoring the tirade and getting on with her research. It was ridiculous anyway; neither of them wanted each other so, clearly, Narcissa was losing the plot!_

_If only they could get through these last few bits of legislation without another argument, but no! Lucius bloody Malfoy comes galumphing in again, running roughshod over her thoughts her protestations and belittling her. Ever since his divorce he had seemed more argumentative, despite being happier in general. The shouting erupted in their small office; not hurtful words, just the usual back and forth of colleagues who disagreed. The argument escalated, stronger words chosen, even though the topic was so bland it almost made Hermione laugh. Who really cared if the parchment colour should be Eggshell White or Bleached Bone? It made no real difference to the petition, but now the fight had started, she would be damned if she was going to back down!_

_Lucius was pushing into her personal space, his hair wild and unkempt and she reached out a hand to grab him just as he…_

_Blackness._

_An unending, empty and silent darkness that stretched forever._

_No sound… no light… not even the noise of her own breath reached Hermione’s ears. There was a silent throbbing in her chest that told her that her heart still beat. She struggled to speak, but she had no voice, barely even knew if she had a mouth or ears. She felt like she had no eyes; she could not see her body. She couldn’t feel anything. Her arms refused to move, her legs were static… if she even_ had _either set of limbs… maybe this was death…_

_In an explosion of noise, light and colour, the twisted and shrieking form of Narcissa Malfoy shredded the darkness. Hermione screamed in pain and terror as the glittering knife stabbed through her forearm, desperately lifted to defend her from the ravening mad-woman above her. The older woman’s face was twisted in rage and insanity, her hair dishevelled and missing in places. Hermione had no wand to defend herself with so could only cry out as blood poured from her arm, stabbed again and again, the flesh torn apart by the shining blade._

_Narcissa collapsed upon the screaming witch, smothering her with the stench of unwashed flesh, deafening her with cries of anger and gibbering unintelligible words of rage. The blade sunk into Hermione’s body now, short, violent stabs that were plunging deep into her flesh. Blood flooded her mouth and filled her vision, so that the terrible witch on her chest seemed to be pushing her under the surface of a blood-red pool._

_Narcissa surged upwards, knife raised high above her head. A detached and fuzzy part of Hermione’s mind noticed the trail of blood that flew from the blade, as it was lifted, tiny globes of red scattering into the air._

_The blade plunged down once more, towards her chest, Narcissa yelling in triumph and_ Hermione sat up, screaming in terror, clutching the bedclothes around her.

Gasping for breath she desperately tried to pull herself together. She placed a hand on her heaving chest, feeling her heart galloping. It was, by far, the worst nightmare she had ever had. Slowly the terrible feelings from her nightmare started to leak away. She couldn’t work out what had prompted such a dream though; the day had been so normal, what with work being the usual combination of slow progress and arguments with Lucius Malfoy. She didn’t think they had talked about Narcissa at all. She had been a touchy subject for months, ever since the divorce, and Lucius avoided talking about her. There certainly hadn’t been anything that should have prompted a nightmare where Narcissa was trying to kill her!

Feeling calmer, Hermione looked around the room, abruptly realising that she didn’t recognise it as her own. It was large and opulently appointed. The deep red-brown, lustrous oak four poster bed she sat up in was draped with silk curtains. Down coverlets clung to her damp, sweat-covered skin and large, fluffy pillows lay behind her. The bedding was twisted and crumpled, presumably from her thrashings. Rich tapestries—faded with age but still in good condition—hung on one wall, framing the large, oaken door. Each one was old, showing scenes from ancient history; events that Muggles knew of, but the Wizarding World knew the _truth_ of. She remembered them… vaguely. The wall to her right held another door, a smaller, simpler one, as well as a huge wardrobe and dressing table. The opposite wall showed a beautiful garden; a fountain decorated one side of a garden that clearly extended far beyond the edges of the window frame.

She was not, she acknowledged with a chill, in her own flat. Not even anywhere near London by the looks of it. Out in the garden a pure white peacock strutted by and Hermione gasped, all the pieces falling together; this was Malfoy Manor!

A small figure, unnoticed until that moment, stood before the window, a hopeful smile on its little face. Dressed in a faded pillowcase with delicate flowers and embroidery on, the house elf curtsied to her. Hermione could tell it was a female elf, having seen the subtle differences between the sexes in her years. That, and the flowery pillowcase.

“Is Mistress well?” the elf asked deferentially, bobbing again. “Mistress was sorely hurt, and the Master was greatly scared for her safety. Is Mistress well?” she asked again, wringing her hands and taking a step forward, eyes wide.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Hermione mumbled, trying to shuffle to the edge of the bed and stand. Her legs refused to co-operate and she ended up doing a funny little wobble that sent the house elf into a panic.

“Please, Mistress must not move! Mistress was hurt and head is likely spinning. Bad ex-Mistress hurt Mistress…” The elf’s face screwed up in almost comical anger, but Hermione saw the elf’s fist raise, pointed towards the elf’s own head. The elf glared at the fist, her lower jaw thrust out pugnaciously, as if daring it to do something. The arm began to tremble, as if under great strain. “Bad Mistress is EX-Mistress and Bossy _not_ get in trouble for saying bad of her,” she said, slowly and deliberately.

Hermione watched this display, open mouthed as the arm seemed to listen and began to lower again. The little elf’s words sunk in at last: ex-Mistress hurt Mistress. Ignoring the fact that the elf thought Hermione was her Mistress—a thought as ludicrous as any the witch had heard in a long time—the elf as good as said that Narcissa _had_ attacked her… it hadn’t been a dream! Why would Narcissa attack her? Sure she had thought that Hermione and Lucius were having an affair at one point, but had never given any indication towards violence, especially not an attack so brutal. Although the house elf was mistaken about Hermione’s identity, she may still have some information as to _why_ she was laid up in Malfoy Manor. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?” she asked quietly.

“Mistress not remember?” The elf’s bottom lip trembled as she took another step forward. “Bossy is called Bossy, Mistress.” Her smile was small and a little sheepish.

“I’m sorry… uh, Bossy… but my head is spinning right now. I’m having trouble remembering what happened. That’s… um, an unusual name, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Bossy was given her name by Master when he gave me to Mistress. Said it was a private joke… Bossy is not knowing the joke, Mistress.” Bossy wrung her hands a little, as if not knowing was a failure to serve.

Trying again, Hermione found her body beginning to behave itself more and she was able to turn and shuffle herself to the edge of the bed and sit up. She put her arms on either side of her, holding onto the bedclothes as the room began to turn a little.

After a moment of stillness things began to steady and Hermione sighed in relief. She was about to ask the elf about the ‘Master’ but, at that moment, the door to the chamber opened quickly and Lucius Malfoy strode into the room. He was dressed in a long cloak and his finest robes, dark material catching the light and hinting at subtle colours within the fabric. His familiar cane was in his hand and he breezed past Bossy as if she didn’t exist. The little elf dropped into a low curtsey anyway.

“My dear wife,” Lucius said, advancing upon Hermione rapidly, “it lifts my heart to see you awake at last! Are you feeling well, my love?”

Hermione realised that her mouth hung open a few moments after being able to digest these words. Lucius reached for her, as if to hug her, and in a sudden panic, the young witch scrambled backwards. She retreated to the pile of pillows and piled them between her and the tall man. She tugged at her night gown, pulling it down to cover her bare legs, blushing furiously, her hair sparking with embarrassment, anger and confusion.

“What’s the matter, my love?” Malfoy held his hands out but came no closer; every line of him shouted his concern and Hermione felt the room spin again.

“Stop calling me that, Malfoy!” she spat, anger winning for the moment. “I am _not_ your love. I’m _certainly_ not your wife and why Merlin’s name am I here?”

“You are home, _our_ home. You are in our suite in the Manor. Do you not remember, my dear?” Lucius’ concern made Hermione confusion stronger. The last thing she remembered was screaming blue murder at him, because he wanted the parchment to be Bleached Bone, instead of Eggshell White...

“I live in London, Malfoy, stop saying these things. I’m not your damn wife, you arrogant prick!”

“You do not live in that hovel you called a flat, any longer! Why on earth would you think that you do? You moved to Malfoy Manor when we wed.”

Lucius’ face was pure confusion and it put Hermione on the defensive, confused at what he was continuing to imply. “Lady Malfoy? Me!? The Mudblood Granger? Bane of your life and thorn in your side? The woman who constantly tries to belittle you and undermine you at every turn? You took this woman as your wife you say?” She lifted her chin and threw a pillow at his head, missing by a decent margin. “Do you think I’m completely stupid? What’s your angle?”

If she hadn’t been so angry, Lucius’ expression – a shifting combination of shock, hurt, anger and confusion – would have made her laugh. “Angle?” he managed. “What do you mean angle? You are my WIFE!”

“I’d not have married you if you had paid me!” Another pillow flew past Lucius’ ear without him having to move his head.

“Your aim with anything other than a spell has always been terrible, love, please stop embarrassing yourself,” he said, dryly, prompting a growl of anger and another poorly aimed scatter cushion. “Are you ensorcelled still? Have the Healer’s failed to cure you? Why do you not know me for your husband?”

“I’ve never even kissed you! Why are you saying we’re married?”

“Why do you continue to deny it, you stubborn woman?” The blond wizard tossed his hair back in anger. “You are wearing our wedding bands, for Merlin’s sake!”

At Lucius’ curt gesture Hermione looked at her left hand, staring at the two rings as if they were venomous snakes. The glittering jewel on the engagement ring was large; not overly large to the point of tacky, but large enough that it spoke of its value. The sparkling, clear gemstone was shaped into a delicate flower and a hint of palest violet flared at its heart. It was beautiful.

The wedding band, by comparison, was much simpler, though, clearly, no less expensive. The golden ring was engraved with graceful, magical runes that blended together seamlessly; a work of delicate, magical, expertise.

Hermione looked at them, looked at Malfoy, looked back at the rings, held them closer to her face, looked at Malfoy. “No. No, this is a trick.” She angrily shook her head in denial, lifting yet another pillow and throwing it at the wizard, narrowly missing him again. “This is your way of getting me to back down on some of my proposals for the Muggle Protection law. You’ve orchestrated some… some elaborate plot to kidnap me and fool me into thinking we’re married… that I would do anything for you… that I’d accept a slave even!”

Bossy jumped as Hermione gestured at her. The little elf squared her shoulders, drawing herself up a little. “Bossy is Mistress’ personal house-elf” she said with a dignified little bob. “Bossy is happy to serve Mistress, and wears gift of socks, from Mistress.”

Hermione gaped at the little elf, as she tugged up the bottom of her pillow case to reveal she was wearing a pair of pale lilac socks, big enough to come up to the elf’s thighs.

“Bossy chooses to serve Mistress by choice,” she declared, proudly.

Malfoy, quirked a confused eyebrow. “You are a logical witch, my dear. I know this through all our years together. Surely you cannot deny what you are seeing. Besides, we finalised that law eighteen months ago. It was passed through the Wizengamot last April and the end of this month will see it come into effect.”

“I don’t… I don’t remember… any of it…” Tears shone in Hermione’s eyes as she tried to take it all in. She still couldn’t believe anything she was hearing, still wanting to think Malfoy was up to something. She sank her head into her hands, despondent and pulled away as Lucius sat on the bed and placed a gentle hand on her arm. Her movements were not aggressive but she was still uncomfortable. “I remember us arguing, at the Ministry,” she mumbled, “and then… it’s all black…” She shuddered, remembering the sudden appearance of Narcissa, rubbing her arm in remembered pain. “Then suddenly I’m being attacked by your ex-wife… I remember a knife… but little else. I think I fell and hit my head, and then I woke up here.” Hermione lifted her eyes to see Lucius’ expression darken.

“Narcissa did indeed attack you, my love.” Rolling his eyes at her sudden glare he held up his hands. “Very well. Hermione, then.”

She sniffed and settled herself more comfortably, turning to face the Lord of the Manor, wiping her eyes with her palms. She was beginning to regain a little of her equilibrium. “Still a little familiar for my liking, Malfoy.”

Lucius stood, drawing himself up in anger as he stepped away from the bed. “I _refuse_ to call you ‘Miss Granger’, especially when you have not been such for nearly two years. At least permit me to use your given name!”

It was barely a request and Hermione bristled. “Still an arrogant bastard then? Clearly, marriage to me didn’t change that!” She flicked her head and stared out the window, her mind racing, trying to work out what was the truth and attempting to see what Malfoy was up to. She was far from convinced that he was telling the truth.

Lucius made a frustrated noise. “Damn it, woman, how can I express how glad I am to see you awake, when you are doing your best to annoy me?”

“You said we’ve been married nearly two years. How long was I unconscious?” Hermione asked, suddenly.

“Mistress was sleeping for the whole afternoon and morning the next day. Bossy stayed by Mistress’ side all night.” The wide eyed elf bobbed another curtsy, casting a furtive look at Lucius as she did so.

The tall man glanced at the elf in mild disdain and the familiar look riled Hermione even more. The elf’s unspoken question to Lucius – that she was giving the right, pre-arranged, information – firmed her belief that all this was a trick. “Thank you, Bossy,” Hermione said, “you have confirmed my belief that this is all a lie perpetuated by this fool. I remember this much at least: I sustained many wounds from Narcissa’s knife and it would have been impossible to heal me, using normal healing magic, in that short space of time.”

As Bossy stammered and stuttered in sudden terror, Hermione swung her legs out of the bed, on the opposite side to Lucius and the elf. Standing and turning to face Lucius’ incredulous stare she spoke, pointing a commanding finger at the elf. “If you _are_ my personal elf you will go now, fetch my clothes and my wand, and allow me to leave and go where I will.”

Bossy’s mouth closed with a snap of teeth that could be heard across the room. Without even glancing at Lucius the little elf vanished in a slurping cloud of sparkling smoke. Hermione paused for a moment, considering this.

Lucius merely watched the young witch with an amused expression. “Being my wife has many benefits,” he said, “not least of which vastly superior medical support, compared to the plebeian masses. Healing your terrible injuries was child’s play for them.” He gestured to the bedside table on the same side of the bed as Hermione. “You are still willing to disbelieve the evidence before your eyes?”

She turned, for the first time noticing the delicate photo frame resting there, three small frames joined like a small fan, each containing a little portrait. Hermione plucked it from its resting place with a shaky hand, unable to believe what she was seeing. “No… no, this is too far, Malfoy!” Tears burned in her eyes as she glared at the imposing man. “You’ve manufactured this from conversations we had at the Ministry. This is too much!”

The central picture showed a standing Hermione, her arms wrapped around Lucius’ waist, her head on his chest. Her hair was beautifully styled and the dress she wore glittered, as if lit by a thousand pinpricks of light. They swayed gently to an unheard tune, eyes closed, lost in each other.

The other pictures showed two children, one in each picture. Each one almost identical—no more than six months old, a head of delicate, platinum hair and beautiful, pale blue eyes. Each reached upwards, as if straining to grab the camera, smiles and silent coos visible on their mouths.

Hermione gazed at the babies again. She remembered a rare moment of peace between her and Lucius, at the office: a moment when they hadn’t been at each other’s throats about the law they were both working on. As far as she was concerned it had happened very recently, only a few weeks ago. She had told him that she had always wanted children, would love to have at least two, one day. The bastard had remembered that and was using it against her now. And yet…

Hermione lightly touched each child’s face, feeling her tears spill down her cheeks. There was… _something_ … something that whispered to her that things weren’t as cut and dried as she was thinking. She felt a presence behind her and spun, placing her back to the wall and clutching the photo frame to her chest like a talisman.

Lucius stood close to her, a strangely tender expression on his usually haughty features. “They are twins, Hermione. Our children.”

“Stop it.” It was barely more than a breath.

“They are six months old…”

“Stop it,” she shouted, shoving the tall man away. “This isn’t fair. You took what I told you and are using it against me!”

“I would not fabricate children to trick someone! What sort of monster do you take me for? Athena is our little girl and every inch her mother’s daughter; demanding, stubborn and bossy.”

“Master called?” The tentative voice drifted over from the other side of the bed as the little elf reappeared with a pile of Hermione’s clothes, her wand balanced on top.

“Not now, you cretin,” Lucius growled, the little elf trembling at Lucius’ glare.

Hermione barely noticed. She was staring at the photo frame again, her fingers caressing the photo on the left, unsure why but knowing in her heart that this was little Athena. And the other…

“What did you say?” Lucius said, whipping round to face her again, Hermione’s whisper just too quiet for him to have caught.

She looked up at him, her bottom lip trembling in confusion. “Our little boy… Leonides…”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	3. Chapter 3

HERMIONE stared out of the window, over the newly repaired gardens. The two remaining house elves, Bossy and Stocky, with Hermione’s help, had spent the last few days repairing the damage and the flowers and shrubs were flourishing after Narcissa’s brutal attack. Stocky was Luicus’ personal House Elf, much like Bossy was Hermione’s.

Poor little Gorky, Draco’s elf, who had been slain by Narcissa, was laid to rest in the gardens. Hermione had raised a stone in his memory, and his body lay near the foot of an ancient oak tree, towards the rear of the garden. It was his master’s favourite place to relax in the summer, and the little elf often sat on the other side of the tree to Draco, waiting for any order he might have. Hermione wiped a tear from her eye, as she thought of the elf’s final act of courage.

While she and the elves had been working on the gardens, her—she had to get used to saying it—her _husband_ and (Merlin, help her!) _step-son_ had spent the time magically repairing the stonework and gates. Hermione sighed and covered her eyes; Draco Malfoy was her step-son! At least she couldn’t yet remember having _that_ conversation.

Shaking her head, she looked out at the gardens again. That was the problem though, wasn’t it? She couldn’t remember the last three years of her life; the marriage, her children… any of it. There were vague flashes of recognition, moments of déjà vu, where memories came back to her. Rarely fully formed ones of course, but enough to make her realise that not everything Lucius was saying to her was a convoluted lie.

And then there were the children themselves, of course. Two beautiful, platinum-haired angels that, despite herself, she recognised in her heart and her soul; there was a resonating beat in her chest and she felt as if her heart aligned with theirs as soon as she entered the room. Nonsense of course, the rational part of her brain had argued, as the babies’ hearts were obviously going to be beating much faster than her own. Still, it didn’t change the feeling: these were her children. Even her _breasts_ responded to their coos and cries and she felt complete when she picked them up. She felt as if holding these two babes was the most natural thing in the world and she had done it a hundred, thousand times before.

It had taken several difficult conversations; with Lucius, Draco and her friends – the Weasleys and Harry, mainly – and her co-workers at the Ministry, to determine the exact point when her mind blanked out. Together they were able to work out how much of her life she had lost: just over three years, by all accounts. Medical experts from St Mungos were unable to restore the lost memories, unable even to find them, they were just gone.

Even Severus had been unsuccessful. He had offered to help and Hermione had gratefully—albeit nervously—allowed him to try using Legilimency to explore the edges of her mind. He concluded that there was a tear, deep inside her mind, where the memories had been torn out. He was dismissive of the technique, stating it to be a hack and slash job by an amateur, but even he couldn’t deny the effectiveness. It also explained, he had said, why snippets of memory and feelings of déjà vu remained: due to the rushed nature of the attack, some memories from the last three years had been left behind, and in most cases, only half memories at that.

Her friends had gathered around her in support, swapping tales and filling in the blanks of what had happened in the world. The only thing they couldn’t help her with were her feelings for Lucius.

By all accounts she really did love him; truly, madly, deeply, as she had (quite drunkenly) confessed to Harry one night, about two and a half years ago, during a barbeque at the Burrow. Harry had taken great pleasure in acting out the scene in front of everyone, much to Fred and George’s amusement, and her own eternal embarrassment. With a haughty sniff, she had informed her friend that he had clearly changed for the worse in the last three years.

The light-hearted joking at the Burrow had soothed her heart and reassured her that, despite her ‘defection and bedding of the enemy’—as her relationship with Lucius was referred to by Fred and George—she hadn’t become a horrible person and abandoned her friends.

All the same, hearing that she loved the man, didn’t help. Knowing that she had two children with him, didn’t help. She believed all the stories and read all the articles in the Prophet… but she still didn’t _actually_ love him.

Hermione looked down at the rings on her left hand again, probably for the fiftieth time in the last couple of days. At first she had tried to remove them, only to find them bound to her magically—apparently a condition of the marriage vows taken by those looking to join the Malfoy family. Divorce was frowned upon except in rare cases and it took extreme measures to enact such a divorce. The removal of the left ring finger of the one to be cut out of the family was one of many steps, and one of the least magical.

Hermione stared at the engagement ring again; taaffeite, not diamond, she reminded herself with a rueful twist of her lips. Lucius had not been pleased that she had forgotten how much rarer the taaffeite stone was, compared to a diamond of equal or even greater size. Apparently it had been a repeat of the conversation that he had already had with her, over two years ago. The young witch gazed at the ring, tracing the flower design with her eyes; a forget-me-not, which Hermione still found hilarious. Lucius had not been so amused when she had pointed out the irony.

He was a very different man to the one that she knew—or used to know maybe. He was generally calm and aristocratically aloof, as he always had been, but there was no longer an undercurrent of condescension in his tone. In all their dealings, from the start of her schooling at Hogwarts through to their dealings at the Ministry in the recent past (or not so recent past, truth be told), he had always looked down his nose at her, treating her like a lesser being; one step up from a house elf. It had made dealing with him an aggravating affair, at best.

Now though he was kind, calm and attentive. When he spoke to her it was as if to an equal, to a lover, and a friend. Despite herself, Hermione was starting to like the man. He had been very upset when she had announced on that first day that she wanted to move into a suite of her own; at first she had wanted to go back to her flat but she discovered that had been sold a long time ago, shortly after she had married Lucius. He had not given in to his anger at first, but bristling with indignation, had politely—through gritted teeth—pointed out that the Lady of Malfoy Manor had her own study, library and gardens. It was ridiculous for her to have her own suite of rooms when the ones she already had, with him, were more than serviceable. The argument had escalated quickly, Hermione refusing to back down, Lucius losing his temper and calling her ‘stubborn’, ‘foolish’ and (worst in Hermione’s eyes) ‘overly emotional’ and that it was ‘typical of a woman who couldn’t get her own way’.

Naturally that had gone down well and she moved into her own suite, with the children, that night. They had refused to speak to each other for about a week afterwards and Hermione had used that time to meet with her friends.

It was almost a fortnight later that a contrite and apologetic looking Lucius had found her in her gardens and had almost begged her forgiveness for his rash words. Well, he had stiffly and politely asked her forgiveness which, based on what she knew of him, was tantamount to a tearful plea! She had magnanimously granted him his request and had then set him and Draco to work, helping the elves repair the grounds.

At dinner, a few days later, Lucius had surprised her further by asking her on a date! When she had finished choking—Bossy proffering a glass of water with a worried expression on her face—Hermione had asked Lucius to repeat himself. Draco, a little further down the long table, had simply smirked and continued eating.

“A date,” Lucius said again, “like when we first became involved. I believe we went to that fine French restaurant in Muggle London that also caters to Wizarding folk, La Frontière. It was a combination of everything you held dear; the magical and the Muggle world, and fine French cuisine.”

The date was set with little difficulty, both of them agreeing to the very next night. Hermione had been greeted in her suite, later that night, by Bossy, laden down with a large bouquet of flowers from Lucius.

The card, tucked amongst the blooms, read, ‘ _To my dearest Hermione, I cannot wait for our date and for the chance to win your heart once more. Ever yours, Lucius x_ ’

The word 'Wife' could still be seen, overwritten with her name, and she could imagine his frustration when he realised he had to change it. Hermione smiled at the correction and acknowledged that he was having at least as much difficulty as her, trying to get used to the idea that things had to start again. For him they had been together for three years, had been intimate and affectionate almost every day of that time. For her, her last memory was of them arguing. True, she admitted to herself, she had occasionally found herself considering Lucius, when she thought he was not looking, at the office. He was a fine looking man, that was undeniable, and the age difference did not concern her. Maybe this date would be the key to help her to get past her perception of Lucius and to begin healing the damage that Narcissa had caused within her mind.

 

THE next night found Hermione being shown to her seat by an extremely polite and effusive Frenchman—the owner and maître d, no less. The man seemed genuinely pleased to see them and made a fuss of Hermione, complimenting her on how well she looked; the young witch got the feeling that the man knew of her condition. He did not ask questions, merely complimented and assured her that she was looking beautiful this evening and that Monsieur Malfoy continued to be the luckiest man in London. Hermione couldn’t help but blush at the barrage of compliments.

The restaurant was clearly expensive, opulently decorated in the latest French styles with subtle hints in places that indicated that there were people here with knowledge of the magical world. Their table was a private booth, near the back of the restaurant so it was away from the door, but still close enough to the kitchen to ensure there was no delay in being served. It was a lovely, private area with few other tables within earshot.

Once they were seated Hermione felt her heart fluttering wildly in her chest and her mouth seemed to dry out. It seemed strange that she was on a date, with Lucius Malfoy, of all people. It still didn’t matter that she knew they had been married for almost two years; she was on a _date_ with the man!

She and Bossy had taken _hours_ getting her ready for the date. The little elf knew exactly what Hermione had worn on her first date, the first time round, and had laid it out ready for her. It was a lovely dress of red with subtle patterns of golden stitching that caught the light and made the material seem to dance. Patterns and whorls shone and spun in the lamplight, forming magical sigils, Gryffindor House symbols and graceful lines. Together they had modified it slightly, as to Hermione’s initial horror, it was a just a shade too tight in places. Once it had been let out to take into account her larger breasts (thanks to the children) and a little bit around the hips, it was perfect once more. Hermione had grumbled about not losing the baby weight after more than six months, while Bossy had assured her that she was beautiful. It had taken even longer to get her hair under control, but once again Bossy had proved to be her saviour. The little elf had quickly gone to work with a full pot of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, her nimble hands binding and styling Hermione’s usually out-of-control mane, twisting it up into an elegant knot at the back her head – a style almost identical to the way she had worn her hair for the Yule Ball in her fourth year.

Lucius had worn the elegant dress robes she had seen him in the day she had woken up after the attack. A dark robe with an elegant cloak, both catching the light and reflecting several colours within the dark fabric. He gave off a fine scent that actually made Hermione’s knees weak for a moment. He was, strangely, quite beautiful. It was not something she had ever expected to say of Lucius Malfoy; most of the time at the office he had simply been annoying, though certainly good looking. Just not… beautiful.

“I used to come here every few weeks, alone, several years ago,” Lucius said, pouring them each a glass of water from the crystal decanter on the table. “It is a wonderful place, despite being seated in the Muggle world.”

“Alone, Lucius? Why not with… anyone else?” Hermione swallowed Narcissa’s name quickly, knowing that Lucius was unwilling to acknowledge her anymore. It had made discussing her problem difficult as even the mention of her upset him. Hastily, only spilling a small amount, Hermione plucked the glass from the table and took a large swallow.

“I discovered it quite by accident, one night after work. Rather than going home I took a walk and found myself, almost by accident, in the Muggle world. I had a lot on my mind, having recently been upset by certain parties and took shelter in here from the rain.” Lucius gazed up at a point, slightly above Hermione’s shoulder, seemingly lost in the memory.

For her part Hermione stared at Lucius’ face, his voice drawing her in with its soft timbre. She had found, more and more, that she could simply sit and listen to him talk. She had asked him to read to her once, a few days back, and he had seemed genuinely pleased. Apparently it was something he had done for her, during their marriage; she had pretended that it was a memory that had come back to her. Just a small white lie, she reasoned to herself. One wouldn’t hurt.

“When I arrived,” Lucius continued, “the maître d treated me like any other diner, asking if I was looking for a table. I was about to deliver a scathing reply, especially as I was feeling particularly… tetchy that night, when I noticed his collar. Did you see it when we came in, my dear?”

Hermione blinked, belatedly realising that Lucius expected an answer. _I was just staring at him like a love struck teenager,_ she thought to herself, horrified. _I’m sure he didn’t notice… did he?_ Hermione smiled quickly, scanning Lucius’ face for a hint that she had been caught and seeing nothing, except maybe a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “His collar? Oh… oh yes, the runes stitched there. I noticed them but have only just realised the significance! They are the runic symbol for Merlin.” _I’m sure he just thought I was thinking. Merlin, I hope he only thought I was thinking hard._

“Indeed, my dear, well spotted,” Lucius said with a smile. His eyes held hers, caressed her and Hermione felt her face heat and quickly took another drink of water, trying to cool her blood. “I myself took a few moments to put it together too, luckily before I had blotted my copy book with the man. I realised that, clearly, he had connections in the Wizarding world and was worthy of some attention. Very soon, having subtly indicated that I was a magic user, I had my own booth—this very one in fact—and a fine meal, served with haste.”

At that moment the maître d returned with a note pad and bowed to each of them. “It truly is a pleasure to see you back here again, Monsieur et Madame Malfoy,” he said, his accent caressing each word. “Forgive me for seeming to be overbearing when you arrived, Madame Malfoy; it is just so good to see you well and on your feet again. It has been too long, by far, since you were both here. My sister sent me a note to say what had happened. Quelle histoire horrible en effet!” He straightened, a finger lifting towards the ceiling and he declared, “It is my _duty_ to help you to remember how much you like my wife’s cooking! Ce soir, pour vous; gratuitment! And I will not hear another word on the matter! You are my guests, choose what you will. Je vais chercher votre vin, monsieur, madame.” With that he bowed and backed away.

“As I was saying, a gentleman worthy of our attention,” said Lucius, dryly. “He is extravagant at times, but he is a fine host.”

Hermione returned the wizard’s smile, her nerves easing at last. She began to finally relax, actually enjoying being out with Lucius, which was a surprise still. He was kind, charming and very warm. She was starting to see why she had fallen for the man.

In short order the maître d—who, Hermione learned, was called Michel—returned with a fine red and white wine, opening and pouring a glass of each for the pair, topping up their water decanter and readying to take their order. Hermione did her best assist Michel, lifting and moving glasses into areas so he could access them with little difficulty. This led to a stream of ‘merci’, ‘de rien’, ‘pas de quoi’ and ‘mille fois merci’ as the pair thanked and your welcomed each other.

Hermione soon realised that Lucius was merely watching her, an amused smile on his lips and an eyebrow quirked. She flushed slightly, realising that it may have been a breach of decorum for Lady Malfoy to assist ‘the help’. After a moment though she sat up straighter and deliberately raised her own eyebrow at him, challenging him slightly.

“So much like our real first date, ma chère,” he said, quietly.

As Hermione flushed again, Michel cleared his throat. “Monsieur, Madame, si je peux me permettre? As this is once more your first date, would you allow me to bring you a selection of dishes? The very best my wife can conjure for you!” Hermione was delighted and rapidly agreed, Lucius nodding soon afterwards and Michel backed away with a bow, promising to return momentarily.

Hermione began to ask a question but Lucius forestalled her, lifting a finger. “A moment, my dear. This is the best thing about this restaurant, and it is a secret that we must both agree to keep once more.”

Hermione was about to ask what he meant when Michel returned with a trolley laden with several dishes, each one a small morsel to taste; maybe a couple of mouthfuls each. As he laid them out before them he named them; coq au vin, cassoulet, moules à la crème Normande, bœuf bourguignon. A selection of side dishes followed; standard vegetables, prepared beautifully, along with a plate of unusual spheres of pastry.

“The gougère are tonight filled with gruyère cheese, especially for Madame’s pleasure,” Michel said, gesturing to the pastry spheres. “Bon appétit!”

Hermione barely had chance to react to Michel’s leaving. She stared at the various plates, glanced at the clock on the far wall, looked back at Lucius. “How…? That was less than two minutes! Lucius, don’t just grin at me,” she hissed, leaning forward slightly, when Lucius continued to smile at her. “Some of these dishes are cooked for _hours_! Restaurants normally ask you to order in advance, so they can have them ready in time. How, in Circe’s name, did they manage to produc-ohh!” Her eyes widened suddenly and she covered her mouth with her hands. “You gave them a Time-Turner!” she accused.

“I did nothing of the sort, young lady,” the wizard scoffed. “Even I would not be so foolish to give them such a device; they _are_ Muggles, after all.”

“Then… how…?”

“Hermione, _I_ may not have given them a Time-Turner, however a Time-Turner they most certainly have got. I would suspect the device to be from Michel’s sister who, if my sources are correct, is the deputy Headmistress of Beauxbaton’s.”

“She can’t give a Time-Turner to a Muggle!”

“If it helps, I think only Michel’s wife is allowed to use it…”

“Lucius!”

“But it allows them to make their slow-cooked dishes fresh, and serve them almost instantly.” Lucius maintained a straight face but Hermione could see the amused light, dancing in his eyes.

“You are _not_ taking this seriously, Malfoy. This is a serious breach of the International Statute of Secrecy!” She kept her voice low but tapped the table with her finger.

Lucius speared a piece of beef, dripping in red wine and tomato sauce. With a deft movement he thrust the forkful into Hermione’s mouth, depositing the morsel with a smirk. “Shut up and eat your dinner.”

Hermione, glaring at the wizard opposite, who was eating his own mouthful of the beef bourguignon, hurriedly chewed, trying to get rid of the food so she could speak clearly. After a matter of moments, however, the flavours swamped her senses and all thought of scolding Malfoy fled. “Oh… oh, Merlin,” she mumbled.

“Good, yes?”

“Oh my God, Lucius!” Her eyes widened as the flavours continued to tickle her mouth, even though she had swallowed the meat. “Lucius that is the best beef I have ever had. It’s just… Circe save me, it’s magical!”

“Try the mussels,” he whispered, offering her one of the black shells. “The moules à la crème here are the best I have tasted, anywhere. And I have tried them in France.”

Hermione forgot all about the Time-Turner after that, her senses taken over by the delightful flavours and aromas from all of the food. Michel was a delightful host, present enough to be ready to assist and absent enough to give the pair the privacy they craved. Lucius remained a pleasure to be with, entertaining her with stories of their lives together, beginning to help her fill in the blanks of her life.

It was all going well until Hermione remembered something by herself. It came to her suddenly, like a lightning strike: Lucius had just mentioned a time when the four of them—Lucius and her, Amelia and Leonides—had been in the garden at the Manor, and Bossy had arrived with their drinks.

“Leonides tripped Bossy, didn’t he?” Hermione exclaimed, interrupting Lucius’ tale.

“He did! You remember that?” Lucius said, excited. “What else comes back to you, love, think hard.”

Hermione frowned, concentrating on the memory. “I remember Leonides reached out and grabbed Bossy’s leg, tripping her. She dropped the tray, which scared Athena… Leonides was covered in his drink. One of the glasses broke, I think… I remember comforting the children, then them laughing and clapping, and I with them. Lucius, I remembered something else! And so clearly too.” She looked up to see a strange look on Lucius’ face. “What is it? Are you not pleased? This is another breakthrough.”

“It seems that all of your breakthroughs seem to revolve around the children, though,” Lucius’ lips twisted in a sour grimace. “You do not recall my part in the incident?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry, but… I don’t recall you there at all.”

“Well, I was! They were laughing and clapping at my antics, which cheered them up again. That is why you were laughing too, because I was making a fool of myself, which always seems to amuse you, no end!” Lucius threw down his napkin, his eyes flashing with anger. “I was there at almost every breakthrough in your memory that you have had, the children and I, both. But _I_ am never to be remembered.”

“Lucius, lower your voice, please,” Hermione said, glancing around. “I do not wish to create a scene here. I am sorry, but I will take what I can and if I remember the children then I am happy…”

“’Remember the children’? The children are barely more than six months old. What of _our_ lives together? What of our love and our happiness, the rest of our relationship? Never have you remembered anything of substance relating to our lives before the children! That gets ignored and I am to be happy that you remembered something, even though three years of our lives together are missing. Our honeymoon in Turkey, for Merlin’s sake! You said it was the happiest you had ever been.”

“I cannot help it if the memories will not come, Lucius. Do you think I like this? Do you think I like looking at you and not feeling the love I know _should_ be there?”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks, frustration turning to sorrow as Lucius stood and gathered his cane. Michel came over, distressed that his guests were unhappy, but at Lucius’ curt request, immediately summoned their transport from the car park; a Ministry car that the couple had on permanent loan for their jobs.

Her mouth set firmly, Hermione thanked Michel for his kindness and for the food. “I am most thankful to be making your acquaintance again, Michel. I would love to come again.”

“And so you shall, Madame Malfoy,” Michel said with a broad smile. “Au revoir, Madame. Bonne nuit, Monsieur.”

This last was called to Lucius, who waited by the door, his back stiff and demeanour aloof. As the car pulled up outside, Lucius nodded politely to the Frenchman and stepped out to open the door for Hermione without a word.

The atmosphere in the car, on the way back to the Apparition point in Wizarding London, was frosty. Hermione stared out of the window, her bottom lip still trembling slightly, in anger or frustration, she didn’t know.

When they finally reached Malfoy Manor they stood at the bottom of the staircase, looking at each other for a long moment. Both moved to speak at the same time and Hermione lowered her eyes with a smile. For his part, Lucius took her hand and raised it to his lips, planting a gentle kiss that seemed to burn her skin.

“Hermione,” he said, quietly. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until he finally spoke again. “Thank you… goodnight.” Dropping her hand Lucius straightened and gave her a formal bow, before turning to go to his suite.

Hermione stood, still feeling the kiss heat her body in ways she had not experienced in some time. She felt that she could fall for this man; this formal, insufferable, jealous, beautiful man. He had a temper, but then so did she. Merlin knows she had been told _that_ in the past!

“Lucius,” she called, her voice soft, almost shy. The tall man stopped and half-turned, his hair partially obscuring his face. “Thank you for tonight. I had a lovely time and… and I would dearly love for us to do it again.”

Lucius smiled tightly and faced her more fully. “All of it?”

Hermione felt her face burn in his gaze and she lowered her eyes momentarily. “Maybe not all,” she said with a small laugh, “but certainly time with you. I would like it very much.”

There was a noticeable shift in Lucius’ stance; a relaxing of his shoulders, as if a large amount of tension left him at her words. He seemed about to speak but instead gave another short bow, turned and walked away, leaving Hermione alone on the stairs.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	4. Chapter 4

“WHAT do you mean I ‘can’t go out today’?” Hermione yelled, standing up from the table. The breakfast crockery shook and rattled as the angry witch, her hair crackling, banged a fist on the surface. “You can’t just ban me from leaving because you have someone coming over! I have things that I want to do as well, Lucius.”

“I have arranged for an expert to come over, to discuss your memory problems. You need to be here for that, clearly,” Lucius said, calmly folding his newspaper. “Therefore there is no way you can go out without the whole appointment being made redundant.”

“And you didn’t think to _ask_ me first? Just thought you’d go ahead and arrange something, without consulting me?” Hermione huffed, stalking away from the table before coming back again, rounding on the blond wizard. “I don’t know how this marriage worked before, but I am damned sure that it won’t involve me kowtowing to your every bloody command in the future!”

“That is the problem though, my dear; you do _not_ know and I, for one, thought you would be keen to remedy that,” Lucius said, curtly. Clearly there was still an undercurrent left over from their date, a couple of days ago.

Draco, in his habitual place a little further down the table, sighed, put his own paper down and stood. “I’ll take my leave now, I think, before the hexes start to fly and the dinner service gets broken.” His dry, sarcastic tone grated on Hermione’s nerves and she glared daggers at him. The man refused to look at her, merely tucking his paper under his arm and stepped away from them. “Especially as Father’s habit of telling you what to do, as opposed to asking, is something you have argued over many, many times before.”

“WELL, I DON’T BLOODY REMEMBER IT, DO I, MALFOY!?” Hermione screamed at his retreating back.

Draco didn’t turn, merely waved mockingly and disappeared around the corner. Lucius looked over at the seething witch and said, quietly, “It’s very true, you know.”

If he had expected a rational response, he was sorely mistaken. Hermione snatched her wand up and shot a vicious hex in his direction, with an almost incoherent scream of frustration. The elder wizard barely managed to deflect the blast at the last second, the sparking violet bolt ricocheting off and hitting a large, expensive looking vase. The delicate object shattered into a thousand, burning pieces, each one developing spikes and green leaves as it fell.

Lucius stared at the pieces in surprise saying, “Hmm, I recognise that one.”

At the same time Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth and mumbled, “Oh Lucius, I’m sorry. That looked expensive.”

“It is of no matter,” Lucius said dismissively, “it was a horrible piece that you bought when we were in Egypt, on holiday. I’ve never much cared for it myself. Merlin knows why you insisted upon it.”

Hermione gave a small smile which grew to a chuckle as Lucius returned it and the tension leaked out of both of them. Bossy moved from her place near the fire and instantly vanished the pieces, before returning within seconds to the fireside.

Lucius stood, gently taking Hermione’s arm and led her to the sitting area at one end of the large room, near the open fireplace. The plush sofas ringed the area in front of the fire and a low, beautiful table, already laden with their drinks and tiny, assorted cakes on a tray, sat in the centre. On one side of the table was a large cradle, the twins cooing and gurgling to each other. Bossy hovered nearby, watching over them attentively.

Hermione reached in and scooped Leonides up, planting a soft kiss on his forehead and laughing as the little man clutched at her face. She gave him a quick hug before passing him to Lucius and then picking up Athena and holding her close. Lucius immediately settled into one of the sofas and began to make faces at his little son. It was a scene that Hermione had seen many times over the last few weeks but it still made her smile; the great and terrible Lord of Malfoy Manor making silly faces and fart noises at a baby. Hermione settled next to Lucius and talked nonsense to her daughter for a moment.

After a few minutes she turned to Lucius. “I’m… I’m sorry, about just now. I seem to be a bit volatile at the moment.”

“As am I, my dear,” Lucius said, with a laugh, patting her hand lightly, “though you do tend to have a bit of a hair trigger on that wand of yours.”

Hermione looked down at Athena for a moment, losing herself in the baby’s eyes. “What were you like when you were born, little one?” she asked softly. “I wish I could still feel it. What I remember is… so ephemeral. If I don’t concentrate it fades and I’m left with nothing once more.”

“Athena was first, as you know, but only just… maybe three minutes or so before her brother. She made no sound, just stared around her, seemingly in wonder at the bright world.” Lucius smiled, stroking a gentle finger down the side of his daughter’s face. “Once Leonides came though—brash, bold and bawling bundle that he was—Athena then began to cry, almost as if she hadn’t wanted to start without him. They have been that way ever since; if one is happy, they are both happy, if one is upset, they will both cry. They will be inseparable, I think.”

“Merlin, please don’t let them turn out like Fred and George!” Hermione said, with a laugh.

“May the Gods of magic hear your prayer, my love!” Lucius whispered, fervently.

“I want to know more,” Hermione said, gently tickling Athena’s tummy. “I want to know everything that I lost, to get that knowledge back.” She looked up at Lucius and smiled shyly. “And I’d like to know you again. How well do you remember our time together?”

“Well, as it is still happening, very well indeed. I have an excellent memory and near perfect recall, given enough time to recollect. What do you wish to know, my love? Ask and I will tell you our tale.”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t really want to hear it, as much as I enjoy your speaking voice. It’s not the same. I want to see it. Seeing those times, those situations… they may stimulate memories and help me get to a place that I can truly _feel_ us again.”

“I understand completely. How about I cancel the Healer for this afternoon after all, and instead acquire a Pensieve? I can extract memories of our life together and you can view them at your leisure or with me at your side, if you would like? If we are able to cure your affliction and lift this curse, without outside interference, so much the better.”

“Oh, Lucius!” Hermione exclaimed. “That would be incredible, thank you! How about our second date be a review of your memories? We can have dinner and talk about the things I want to view… I’ll have to start making a list, at once. How soon can you get the Pensieve? Oh, this is so exciting!”

Lucius laughed at her, a deep, happy sound. “Now there is a sound I have missed; Hermione Malfoy, planning to succeed where others would despair. It is good to have you filled with enthusiasm again, Hermione, that over-achieving mind of yours set to task.”

“Fail to plan and you plan to fail, Lucius,” she simpered, causing the man to laugh again. Hermione’s mouth firmed, suddenly serious again “I am going to get my life back, Lucius. Whatever it takes. The Pensieve is just the first step; depending on how things go and how I feel… maybe we can talk about… about us.” Hermione blushed suddenly and stammered, “Well, you know, our relationship… I mean, I know we are married and have children… clearly that required… ah… well, you know…”

“I remember it,” Lucius said, with a slightly lecherous smile, “very well indeed.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she chided, her face heating further. Lucius merely raised one of his damnable eyebrows and the look shifted from “dirty old man” to “seductive paramour” in an instant. The blush seemed to spread all the way down her body, heating her centre and making her groin tingle, almost as if in anticipation. _How does he_ do _that?_ With a shake she sat up, clearing her throat. “Now, rules! No tampering with the memories. Harry told me all about Slughorn’s adjusted memory, so I know what to look out for! Depending on how open and honest with me you are… well, then we’ll see where things go from there, I suppose.”

Lucius readily agreed and together they set the date for a couple of days hence, to give the wizard time to procure the Pensieve.

 

WHEN the day finally arrived, a nervous Hermione entered Lucius’ study to find the Pensieve already set up in the centre. Hermione paused in the doorway, staring in wonder at the room. It was walnut panelled and lined with bookshelves. Each wall was easily thirty foot in length and a large fireplace blazed on the far wall. The centre of the chamber was occupied by two handsome, red leather sofas and two armchairs, in an open space to the side of Lucius’ desk. The desk, a large, sturdy construction, occupied the centre of the room, the Pensieve sitting atop it.

The handsome man was already removing memories, drawing them out from his temple with his wand, and depositing them into the silver bowl. _When did I automatically start thinking of him as a handsome man, rather than Lucius Malfoy?_ Hermione thought, swallowing hard. _It’s true,_ she told herself with a mental shrug. _Let’s be fair, not so long ago I probably had that handsome man all over me; with his long, nimble fingers touching me, his soft, beautiful hair gripped in my hands, those stormy eyes holding my gaze and those lips…_

Hermione realised that she was breathing hard, audibly panting and that damned blush was spreading over her chest like a heat rash. Gods, she was horny for Lucius bloody Malfoy!

“Bossy fetch Mistress a drink?” the little elf asked at her side.

“Um, yes please, Bossy,” Hermione managed, suddenly breathless as Lucius turned to face her, “that would be lovely… thank you.”

As she walked forwards, Lucius smiled and took her hand, placing a gentle kiss upon the top. “You seem flushed, my dear. Is the room too warm perhaps? I had Stocky light the fire, as the weather has cooled, but if you would prefer…?”

“No it’s fine, thank you, Lucius,” Hermione managed, caught in his eyes. “I think I just walked here a little fast, is all.”

Lucius glanced down at her chest, a slow, lingering glance at her cleavage. Rather than being offended by the frank look, Hermione found herself wanting to pull his face between her breasts and let him do what he will. “See something you like?” she said, aiming for light and amused. She was certain that she didn’t sound desperate and needy. She certainly _didn’t_ take a deep breath before speaking.

“Certainly I do,” Lucius said with a smile. “Your clear and obvious arousal has always been a favourite sight of mine.”

“My… what?” Hermione blinked, momentarily confused.

“Hermione, my dear, whenever you are… ah, horny—to use the vernacular—your chest is very clear about your desires.” A finger traced its way down Hermione’s cheek, lingering at her jaw and seeming to burn with intent.

Clearing her throat Hermione swiftly stepped away, taking the drink from Bossy and deliberately keeping her eyes averted from the blond man behind her. “Well, that may be the case in certain circumstances, but I assure you I simply walked here too fast tonight.”

Lucius said nothing and Hermione glanced at him. He merely bowed in acceptance and murmured, “As you wish, my lady.”

“Now, the first thing I would like to know is who first suggested that we get together. Was it something we said, or did? Who made the first move?” Hermione sipped her wine and stole glances at Lucius as he moved towards the Pensieve. She kept the large dish, and the table it rested upon, between them.

“To business straight away I see. Very well, we shall watch some memories and then have dinner. We will not, however, require a memory for this first one; Draco, in fact, was the first to suggest it, to me.”

Hermione could only stare at the man. “Draco…?”

“Yes,” Lucius said with a smile, “I was surprised as well. He said that our “mutual annoyance for each other hid a deep affection that neither of us would dare to admit”. Said that he was quite bored of it now and…” Lucius grimaced with slight distaste. “And that we should “just fuck and get it over with”. Rather crude at times, my son.”

He sniffed delicately, just as Hermione let out a snort of laughter and immediately looked embarrassed. “Draco said that? Really?”

“Indeed. It was, of course, some time before that affection was revealed. I’m not in the habit of proving my son right and you were not showing any sign that he was correct either.”

“But you asked me on a date?”

Lucius smirked but hid it quickly. “Yes, eventually we did go on a date. To La Frontière, in fact, as you know.”

“What was it like?”

Lucius gestured to the Pensieve. “I had anticipated this would be one of the memories you would wish to observe. It is ready for your viewing pleasure, my dear.”

Together they lowered their faces towards the silver liquid. Through the shifting clouds of thought Hermione could see La Frontière, as if from above. Her nose touched the liquid and the room gave a lurch and she tumbled forward. She felt herself swirling through icy liquid, blackness all around here, until, abruptly, she landed on one of the restaurant’s chair. Lucius was beside her and gestured towards the booth they had visited, only a few days ago.

The real Hermione watched, in surprise, as an almost identical replay of their date from last week, occurred before their eyes. At first the pair were nervous, feeling each other out, much as they had recently. Hermione expressed the same sentiments about the Time-Turner, Memory-Lucius silencing her in the same way. It even ended the same way.

After their dinner the conversation turned towards work. Hermione brought up the new intern she had hired to help them finish up some administration work. She enthused that his work was very fine and that she was glad that she had found him. Lucius seemed to dislike the way Hermione talked about him, complaining that she was paying him far more attention than was necessary. Jokingly Hermione asked him if he was jealous. Lucius glared daggers, telling Hermione that he was not jealous of a mere underling, especially not a Muggle-born one.

Hermione watched a verbal fight break out as the pair argued over Lucius’ unreasonable behaviour and Hermione’s stubborn foolishness. Things began to escalate further until Lucius abruptly stood, declaring the date over and that they should perhaps end things before some Muggle got hurt. “Or Muggle-born,” he muttered, under his breath.

Hermione gave a start as she felt herself rise into the air. Lucius—the real one—had a hand on her elbow and the pair of them floated upwards. For a moment everything went black and her head gave a spin, almost as if she had turned a cartwheel. Then she was back in the study, staring across the Pensieve at a rather sheepish Lucius.

The man straightened and shifted his shoulders, almost apologetically. “I am not proud of my temper,” he muttered, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile.

Her smile became another blush—really, she _had_ to get her hormones under better control!—and she whispered, “What was it like when we… um…” She cleared her throat, feeling her skin prickle and burn all over, and she shifted with embarrassment. Lucius merely watched her, a knowing look on his face. Hermione coughed, looked at the ceiling and then said, hurriedly, “When we first made love… what was it like?”

She closed her eyes, biting her lip, praying for the ground to open up. _That was_ not _the question I was going to ask next! Oh, Merlin save me!_

“You may have to be more… specific,” Lucius drawled, a slight laugh in his voice. Hermione opened her eyes, and at her questioning look, Lucius shrugged. “I take it you mean the first time we lay together and enjoyed each other’s body, in a romantic way. Teasing and caressing and such like?”

The description launched many thoughts of just that sort of thing into Hermione’s mind and she mumbled, “Exactly… what else…?”

With an enigmatic smile Lucius extracted a silvery memory from his temple, allowing it to drip into the bowl. Lucius waved his wand over the surface, causing it to swirl faster. The study swam into view, darker and lit only by the fireplace. White, fluffy rugs lay before the blaze and Hermione watched herself being teased and caressed, laying on those soft rugs, lit by the firelight. A bottle of wine and two glasses, lay to one side and her own cries of passion and ecstasy drifted out of the bowl, echoing slightly, as if emanating from a tunnel. The scene before her was the height of romance and Hermione felt herself responding to it; she was becoming wet as memory-Lucius took her, slowly and sensuously.

“Oh Merlin…” she whispered. The unadulterated eroticism in the Pensieve was reaching a climax and Hermione tore her eyes away from the surface of the liquid, to find Lucius watching her hungrily. She was trapped by his eyes, for a moment wanting nothing more than to recreate that scene, right here, right now. They were in the same room, for Circe’s sake! It wouldn’t be difficult to just let him… She gave herself a shake; this wasn’t about satisfying her baser desires, this was about learning more about their past. If she could get to a place where she was more comfortable thinking of Lucius in _that_ way… maybe things could progress. For the time being she had to focus on the more mundane aspects of their life together, build a better picture.

“Show me our first time… the first time we ever had sex,” Hermione blurted. _Oh, come on!_ she scolded herself, disgusted. It was too late to back out now though. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m guessing it wasn’t as… romantic.”

Lucius, looking a little flushed himself, nevertheless managed a smirk as he pulled a different memory from his temple and stirred it into the Pensieve.

In her haste to see, Hermione found herself tumbling into the Pensieve once more, rather than merely observing. Standing in her office at the Ministry she mentally berated herself for such awful lack of control, just as Lucius Malfoy walked through her!

“Miss Granger, I must insist! We must use my suggestion,” he said, loudly, leaning on her desk and waving a roll of parchment. On the other side of the desk Hermione saw herself and stood to the side to get a better view.

Standing up, the memory-Hermione stalked around the desk, brandishing her own roll of parchment. “Bleached Bone? BONE? Do we really want to remind people about your past? Because that’s what bone says to me, Malfoy! Skulls, death, Death Eaters! You tell people about your fucking Bone White parchment and they’ll just remember you were working with a madman not that long ago. Eggshell is neutral, simple and doesn’t remind one of a murdering psychopath!”

“Don’t raise your voice to me and stop being so stubborn, woman. You are being ridiculous,” Lucius said, dismissively, plucking the parchment from Hermione’s hand and tossing it behind him, onto the desk.

“Ridiculous?” Hermione shrieked, pushing Malfoy backwards so that his backside bumped into her desk. “You arrogant bastard! _You’re_ the one arguing about a fucking parchment colour!” Hermione snatched the parchment from Malfoy’s hand.

“We wouldn’t be arguing if you would know your place and do as you were fucking told, once in a while!” Lucius yelled, reaching for the parchment.

The real Hermione, stood to one side, recognised this scene. She remembered this fight. These were her last memories, prior to waking up in Malfoy Manor! What happened here that made it such a dramatic moment?

In front of her, the nature of the argument shifted, abruptly. Lucius leant forward, attempting the snatch the parchment away from Hermione. “Damn it, witch, work with me on this!”

At the same time Hermione leant forward, trying to grab the roll that Lucius had tossed aside. Both leant the same way and their faces met, both just retaining enough wherewithal to avoid it being a head-butt. Instead their mouths met, lips pressing together in a sudden kiss.

Their eyes widened, both springing back as if burned, staring at each other in shock. It was impossible to see who moved first but suddenly their arms were round each other in a frantic clinch, hands moving everywhere, mouths locked together. Hermione’s robes flew from her and Lucius’ were not far behind. Their hidden desire for each other had clearly reached boiling point and had found an outlet. Before long the pair were rutting wildly; she panting and crying out, he grunting in time with his rapid thrusts, the slap of flesh on flesh as Hermione was thoroughly shagged on her own desk. Parchment, Eggshell White and Bleached Bone, went flying as Lucius swept the surface clear, laying her down so that she screamed her pleasure at the ceiling.

It was not romantic in the slightest and the real Hermione was extremely surprised at herself for going along with it! She was flushed and could feel her knickers clinging to her, a moistness starting to dampen the material as she watched herself get flipped over, receive a firm slap on each cheek—to which she responded in approval—and then continue to be pounded into the desk.

Unable to help herself Hermione found herself stroking her breasts, the nipples hardening and aching painfully with need. She was close to plunging her hand into her knickers, desperate for relief when she felt a hand touch her elbow and jumped in sudden shock.

Lucius stood beside her, that hungry look in his eyes again. Never taking his eyes off of her he took a firmer grip on her elbow and she felt herself rise, towards the study once more. A dizzying feeling of vertigo later and she was stood by the Pensieve once more.

Lucius was beside her still, hand on her elbow, the other at her back. That look on his face drew her in; she wanted to know him in every way, she wanted to feel that passion as she clearly had, more than once.

“I remember the argument…” she whispered, staring into his lust-filled eyes. “But not… not that…”

“I believe,” Lucius said, his voice rough and thick with need. “I believe that the curse placed upon you hooked itself into the first moment we were ever intimate… the way that Narcissa _thought_ we were, in her jealous mind, before the divorce.” A gentle hand stroked down Hermione’s cheek, a subtle pulling in his fingers drawing her closer to him. “The curse then destroyed every memory after that point, presumably with the intention of… I do not know… What her plan was, I truly have no idea.”

Her breath coming in short gasps, Hermione felt her chest press lightly against his. She was staring up into his eyes still, locked in their gaze. Her voice was low and her body throbbed with desire, screaming to just _do it already_! “Her plan wasn’t very well thought out, was it?”

Lucius’s other hand moved from her elbow to her hip and Hermione felt every nerve ending light up in response. “The insane are never more dangerous, than when they think they know what they are doing. The Dark Lord and my ex-wife share that in common.”

Hermione smiled and pressed herself closer, arms sliding around his side, sighing in pleasure as he cupped her buttock. “You have shown me that you are caring and warm, beneath that aristocratic exterior of yours. I believe that you truly do love me. I also believe, fully now, that we are married and that I loved you, before this curse. Despite not remembering very much at all I would like to know you again.”

Lifting herself up on tiptoes, sighing as she felt a distinct hardness slide over her waist, she pressed her lips softly to his. His arms pulled her close and she melted into him, giving herself over to the passion and desire that roared through her blood.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemon warning!

HERMIONE stretched out on the white rug, feeling so cat-like she could purr. Her naked flesh was held and tickled by the strands of soft fur as she moved. Every part of her was sighing in satisfaction and that feeling only increased as her shoulders encountered the firm resistance of Lucius’ chest. She sighed for real when his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer against his naked body.

The fire had died down a little but it was still burning, giving them heat and light. Carefully Hermione turned in Lucius’ arms, facing him and kissing him gently on the lips. “That was… heavenly,” she sighed.

Lucius brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, smiling at her. “It is good to feel you against my body again. It is where you belong, my love.”

“For the first time, I’m beginning to really believe it that this _is_ where I belong. If this is the way we have been, these last three years, then I will be happy to return to this life.”

The blond wizard gave a short laugh. “Such perfection and decadent romance is not always our style, my dearest. Life does not allow a husband and wife such times as these on a regular basis.”

Hermione nodded, it was not that she expected their lives to be full of sex and romance, day in day out. She wasn’t completely deluded. “Tell me this… after seeing our first date again… Do we argue a lot?”

“We _are_ married, my dear…”

“I mean, seriously argue… with real anger. I’ve seen a spat or two.” She grinned, kissing his nose gently. “We’ve argued a fair bit since I woke up in your bed. But have we ever been _really_ angry at each other?”

“I think I know what you want to see,” Lucius said, hauling himself to his feet.

He stood above her for a moment, but instead of taking his hand, Hermione spent a few moments, openly staring at his body. She enjoyed the way the firelight limned his figure. Finally she took his hand, allowing him to pull her up. Together they walked over to the Pensieve, the pool of liquid circling by itself. Collecting his wand once more, Lucius extracted a thick strand of memory and tapped it into the pool.

“This was what happened after our third date… and before we start,” he said with a laugh, “in my defence, we had had a _very_ rough day at the Ministry.” Holding out his hand he took Hermione’s and together they dipped their faces into the liquid.

After the familiar, dizzying, fall Hermione found herself standing in darkness. She started to get nervous but soon realised that Lucius was still with her, holding her hand. She squeezed it lightly, feeling him respond in kind.

A chill seemed to hang over the chamber and Hermione gave a shiver, feeling her skin shrink and pebble. She wished that she had snatched up her robe, or at least had one of the fluffy rugs to wrap around herself. Lucius moved in behind her, pressing his body to hers and wrapping his arms around her. She smiled, already feeling warmer.

Her heart jumped when, at that moment, there was a crash of sound and a heavy wooden door burst open, allowing light into the darkened chamber. The light, from torches lit outside, sprang forward, eagerly devouring the darkness and illuminating the strange, dungeon room. Things chattered and gibbered from the walls at the light and the sudden noise; cage bars were rattled by unseen creatures.

Hermione’s attention was drawn back to the doorway and the man that stood there. He held his arms close to his body, his breathing short and rapid with an edge to it, as if he was in pain. The man’s long blond hair fell past his shoulders, his face handsome; his eyes held a look of pain however, though he tried to hide it behind an aloof exterior. Hermione glanced up at the real Lucius, behind her, then back at the memory of him, wondering what had happened.

 With the light now filling the room, it was possible to see the large, stone walled chamber fully; strange creatures within cages were set into the wall at various places. Each creature variously turned away, lay down or shrieked at the light and the intruder. Between the cages were books, boxes, vials and jars, loaded onto shelves by the dozen. Each one was labelled in a tight, elegant script, done in black ink.

The light revealed the chambers’ boundaries, the room being some twenty meters on each of its four sides.  No other door could be seen, nor was there a window marring the walls, only shelves, laden with their charges. The lantern light revealed the chambers’ only human occupant, hunched over a large black cauldron, swirling clouds of a slow moving, sickly purple-coloured mist, spilling over its edges.

The man’s face could not be seen, his lank, shoulder-length, black hair concealing his features from view. His hands rested possessively upon the edges of the steel cauldron, the wand in his right held motionless above the mist. It seemed that he had not even reacted to the door bursting open.

Slowly he moved his wand, counter-clockwise in one, slow circle. The turgid cloud reacted to the motion, shifting through the spectrum towards a pure, undiluted green colour. As the mist reached the desired shade, the man tapped the edge of the cauldron with his wand and the mist dropped away, as if turned to stone.

He turned his head towards the open door, his hair falling back to reveal a large, hooked nose and dark eyes that seemed to absorb the light. His expression was a mix of disdain and vague annoyance and his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Lucius,” Severus Snape said, “this is a delicate— _light sensitive_ —potion…”

“Snape,” Lucius interrupted, hissing through gritted teeth, a tendon jumping in his neck, as his body twitched, involuntarily. “I need…” He gave a gasp of pain and shut his eyes, attempting to master himself.

Snape stood up straighter, his head tilted to the side, curious. “What is it, Lucius?” Without taking his eyes from the man Severus pointed his wand into the depths of the cauldron. Smoke once more began to build within the large container but did not rise above the rim. He gestured with his left hand, beckoning his guest into the room.

Lucius opened his eyes, his body still shaking slightly with repressed pain. “I need your assistance,” he grunted at last. He stood in the doorway still, hunched over, his left arm held over his waist, cane in hand. Every motion seemed to cause him agony, though he was keeping it hidden as much as he could. His request sounded equal parts command and plea.

The silence drew out between the two men as Snape carefully considered Lucius’ appearance and demeanour. Even the strange animals hushed in their cages, the tension in the room mounting with each second. The corner of Severus’ mouth twitched upwards in what, in anyone else, would have been the beginnings of a smile. “Indeed,” he said. “I take it there is a reason that you did not see your usual Healer, at St Mungos?”

“I will not wait with the unwashed masses in that cesspool of a hospital! My Healer is unable to see me immediately, as I demanded, and the rest of the incompetent fools seem to be under the notion that I will be content with this.” The taller man, looked down his nose at Severus, disdain in his expression for that thought. The motion turned into another convulsion, the aristocratic man clutching his hip and giving a cry of pain. As his leg gave way, Severus rushed forward, catching his friend and supporting him.

Hermione looked up at the man behind her. “What happened here, Lucius? Who did this to you? It wasn’t… I didn’t… did I?” Lucius merely placed a finger to his lips and gestured for her to watch.

Severus had helped his friend hobble to a bench and lit a couple of lanterns, hung nearby. Severus took out his wand again and was running it over Lucius, searching for what was hurting him. “Sit still!” the dark haired, Potions Master said, firmly. He crouched down, following his wand’s tip and gripping Lucius’ leg, holding it steady. The taller man tried to pull it free but the pain stopped him from putting up too much of a fight. Snape’s wand pointed inwards towards Lucius’ crotch, the tip glowing and shifting colours.

“Damn it, Snape! That hurts!”

“It is a serious Hex that has been placed on you, of course it will hurt. Who have you upset now, my friend? Not another spat with your young paramour?” Lucius said nothing to this and Snape looked up at the taller man. “Your silence speaks volume, Malfoy. Well, it seems her intentions were to hurt you… and in a rather _delicate_ place, no less.” Severus’ eyes narrowed. “What exactly was it that you did?”

Lucius refused to meet Severus’ dark eyes, clearly concentrating on increasing his mental defences. Snape’s ability as a Legilimens was well known and Hermione could see that he was unwilling to give the Potion Master any more information than he had to. “We had a disagreement,” he said, tight lipped. A pulse of agony seemed to surge through him then, causing him to convulse slightly and pull in upon himself.

“A disagreement,” Snape murmured, continuing to stare at Lucius.

“Fine, if you must know.” Lucius tossed his head angrily. “The bloody woman is unreasonable and almost impossible to work with. She managed to work her way under my skin so much that I lost my temper. After she had bemoaned my ‘unwillingness to accept change’ I told her that she was clearly losing her mind, and that maybe the mud in her veins was clogging her brain!”

“Rash, Lucius,” Snape murmured, the tip of his wand shifting colours, brighter and brighter. “I take it this was to do with the law you are still both working on.”

Lucius winced as Severus continued to work. “She will not co-operate with me on this, always claiming that _her_ ideas have more merit!”

“You mean she will not bow down to your every command?”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference, old friend, is that Hermione Granger is not your typical woman and she is not a pure-blood, to behave as you feel she should. Just because you are dating her does not automatically grant you her unwavering obeisance. If anything you will find her more stubborn, demanding and above all as bossy as anyone you have ever met before.” There was a ripping sound and Lucius’ eyes bulged. Snape jerked his hand back abruptly, pulling with it his wand, a large spiked, green leaf, much like a cactus, stuck to the tip.

Lucius roared in agony, falling away from his friend and landing on the floor in an undignified heap, the crotch of his trousers torn open.

“Well… there’s your problem,” the dark haired wizard muttered to his supine friend.

Hermione, her mouth open in shock, watched as Snape flicked the leaf to the floor, where it began to dissolve. She turned to look up into Lucius’ eyes and let out a laugh that was equal parts humour and disbelief. The man’s face was a picture of embarrassment and the flush that stained his cheeks made her smile wider. “Um… I didn’t see where Severus... where he extracted the…

“It is of no matter,” the man said hurriedly, focusing on her face and noting her humour. “It was highly uncomfortable but it was dealt with. Shall we move back to the study?”

“Oh Lucius,” Hermione said with a laugh, “I’m so sorry for hexing you as I did.”

Lucius didn’t speak for the moment, simply holding her close as they lifted into the air. They spun gently and their senses realigned with the study once more. Their arms still around each other Lucius stroked his hand down Hermione’s back. “We have already forgiven each other, some time ago, my dear. Me for my gross breach of manners, and you for your… ahem… retaliation.”

Hermione gazed up at him, a feeling of desire running through her again—not to mention a feeling of guilt. Demurely she ran stroked a hand over Lucius’ hips, a thumb sneaking around to ghost around his groin. She felt his cock twitch at her touch and bit her lip. She fluttered her eyelashes at him and said, coquettishly, “But I don’t remember my apology. It would be remiss of me not to make amends, now that I have seen how horrible I was to you.”

As she planted soft kisses over Lucius’ chest, she felt him give a gentle laugh and there was an insistent pressure against her waist. His arousal was growing as she began to run her tongue over his nipples, capturing them and gently nipping them with her teeth. “Well, who am I to deny my lady’s wishes?” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest.

Her hand cupped his balls, stroking over the skin and drawing a pleased sigh out of the tall man. Her other hand stroked over his backside, fingernails scraping across the skin, as she lowered herself down in front of him. She crouched, legs apart and eyes staring up at him. Slowly and deliberately, her eyes never leaving his, she ran the flat of her tongue along the top of his rapidly hardening cock, from tip to base and back again. Lucius moaned, his head rolling back and his fingers tangling into Hermione’s hair. Her hand moved to stroke along his length, gently gripping and releasing, twisting slightly as she stroked. “Can my Lord forgive me… again?” she whispered, her mouth brushing lightly over the bulbous tip, the drop of dewy moisture clinging to her lips. Hermione smiled as Lucius gripped her hair more firmly, digging her nails into his buttock and tightening her hand around his shaft, until he eased up.

Slightly hoarse, he managed, “I’m sure we can work out some suitable form of recompense for the pain I suff—fuck!” This last came out as a strangled gasp as Hermione slid her mouth forward, her wet lips slipping over the head of his cock, and taking as much of his length as she could in one slow motion. Her tongue ran up the underside, skating firmly over the sensitive area near the tip.

“I’m sorry, my dear?” she whispered, eyes on his, her lips against the tip once more, sucking it lightly. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Maybe you haven’t forgotten _everything_ , love,” Lucius said, with a laugh. “You always were very talented with that mouth of yours.”

Hermione stroked her hand along his length rhythmically, her saliva helping it glide smoothly. Keeping her eyes locked to his she leant back slightly, dropping her left hand to her own crotch and sliding an exploratory finger through the slick folds. She sighed in pleasure as she circled the aching nub at the top, her eyelids drooping slightly. Lucius’s gaze burned with desire as he watched her stroke herself. Pressing her finger against her clitoris, Hermione took Lucius’ cock as deep as she could manage, letting her tongue work the whole length, before pulling back again. She began to move a little faster, sucking his length in and out of her warm mouth in long, slow, rhythmic strokes. Her hum of pleasure caused Lucius to twitch and buck slightly, but every time he tried to push deeper she squeezed harder on his balls: a clear message that _she_ was the one in control.

As she relented and sucked Lucius into her mouth again, moving faster now, she pushed her finger inside her slick opening, feeling the pressure building nicely within. Letting him slip out of her mouth with an audible pop, she stood, pushing the tall man back, towards the rugs. As he walked backwards she slipped her finger into his mouth, feeling him suck her juices from the digit.

They stepped onto the soft rugs and Hermione pulled on Lucius’ shoulders, making him drop to his knees. Without a word she hooked her leg over his shoulder, her hands gripping the back of his head. With a cry of pleasure she pulled Lucius’ mouth against her wet slit, feeling him instantly go to work. His tongue ran from the bottom to the top, in one long, slow swipe and the sudden sensation, as it flicked over her engorged clit, made her balancing leg tremble. His strong hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her closer still and his tongue vanished, deep into her dripping entrance. She gave a cry of ecstasy, laughing slightly as Lucius began to use his tongue to clean every fold, no area left untouched. The sweeping sensations turned her cries to low ululations as she felt herself building and building towards that peak. “Oh Merlin, yes… oh Lucius, please… don’t… fucking… stop! Please, please!”

Her cries became trembling sobs and Lucius held her upright, supporting her as her leg gave way. She came apart under his eager ministrations, his tongue thrusting in and out of her like a small cock. Her muscles clenched and spasmed wildly around his tongue as wave after wave of bliss washed over her. Trembling and still mewling with the after effects Hermione felt herself lowered in Lucius’ arms, unable to help him in any way; she could only hold onto him tightly, her arms seeming to be the only limbs still operational. She kissed him urgently, tasting herself on his mouth, their tongues slithering and sliding over each other in a desperate dance. She growled, low in her throat as she felt Lucius’ solid cock slide over her tender clit and push smoothly inside her.

Lucius pulled her down, pushing himself deep inside her, lifting himself on his knees. He began a fast, steady rhythm, fucking her harder than before. Her abused nerve endings were barely able to keep up with the powerful waves of feeling and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging onto him as if to driftwood in a storm. The blond wizard, his rapid thrusts never faltering, tucked her legs around his waist and she gripped him with her thighs, feeling the shift in position help him to hit deep inside her. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, the nipples stimulated by his light chest hair. Lucius began a low grunt in time with his thrusts and she could feel the pressure build again already. It was a slower build than before but just as inevitable. He began to speed up and Hermione cried out with him, almost screaming in delight as Lucius pounded into her, pushing her to breaking point.

The witch was not sure she could take any more; her body was near the peak, but she was flagging. There was just not enough left to push her over the edge, her nerves over stimulated. At that moment, a slick finger slid between the cheeks of her arse and pressed itself against the tight circle of muscles there. Hermione barely managed to gasp, a deep shuddering breath, as the digit slipped inside her. Her eyes almost closed as Lucius’ thrusts lost their rhythm and he gave a shuddering cry of his own.

Her vision tunnelled, blood roaring in her ears. The feeling of his hot seed, spilling into her, increased her own sensation and she came again, her head flung back, fingernails digging into Lucius’ back. His face pressed between her breasts, great gasps of air being pulled into his lungs and Hermione felt him twitch and shudder inside her, even as she trembled in the wake of her own release. She held him close, panting and gasping into his hair then, his arms around her waist. Locked together, Lucius settled back, keeping her close to him as they rode out their own orgasms, enjoying the sensation of being together.

It seemed an eternity later that they lay once more upon the rugs. Hermione was draped over Lucius, her arm over his chest, playing with his hair, her leg hooked around his. She lifted herself then, looking down at him and smiling softly. “This is something I would like to see again, in the future. I get the feeling that we have done something similar. The circumstances are familiar, but it’s not the memory from the Pensieve. It’s something else...”

Lucius stroked a hand over her sweat-dampened curls and smiled back at her. “What is familiar about it, love? Is it a memory, or a déjà vu?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, frustrated by the feeling that something was just at the edge of her thoughts. “It was a name… or… bah! It’s gone!” With a moan of disappointment she lay her head on Lucius’ chest, closing her eyes and concentrating on his heartbeat.

“We never did have dinner, Hermione.”

She gave a laugh, stroking the firm muscles of his stomach. “No, we didn’t, did we? I think we skipped straight to the dessert.”

“And on our second date too. There are names for women like you, Hermione Malfoy.”

Playfully she slapped his chest and joined in with his laugh. “Yes and there’re names for men like you too, Mister Malfoy! We shall have to try to have dinner again, another night.” She turned her head, looking up at the Pensieve, glowing idly by itself on the desk. She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t think I can keep doing it like this though,” she muttered.

“Doing what, love? Surely you don’t mean to abstain from sex? Not now you have realised just how good it is with me.”

Although his tone was light, Hermione could hear the concern in it and hastened to reassure him. “I would _love_ to do this again, Lucius. I’m… I don’t think I’m ready to move back into your… _our_ rooms again, not yet, but I’m certainly not adverse to trying out the bed on occasion.”

“Then what is it that you cannot do any longer?”

“The Pensieve,” she said, quietly, “it’s very interesting, seeing your memories… and I do want to continue, really, but I need more. It’s all very well _seeing_ these memories of yours, knowing them for truth… but I want _my_ memories back. I want to remember these things for myself.” She looked at him, cupping his face lightly and kissing him. “I want to feel that love, not just this lust that burns inside. I want to remember that I love you. Discovering it again is exciting, but we had a life before this curse. I want that back, whatever it takes. I thought the Pensieve would be enough, but…”

Lucius smiled, capturing her hand and pressing it to his lips. “I will do everything, anything I can to restore your memories to you, my love. First thing tomorrow I will reschedule the expert I had first contacted, and then send an owl to the chief medical staff at St Mungos. I will demand their fore-most experts to work on a cure. If they cannot help, we shall look farther afield. I have accrued many favours; I shall call as many of them in as it takes to get you our life back.”

Hermione hugged him tightly then, a feeling of warmth and—maybe—the initial flickers of love stirring inside her.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	6. Chapter 6

HERMIONE’S personal library was usually quiet, even when she was present. Even when the weather was terrible outside, none of that sound penetrated the four walls to disturb the library’s sanctity. The burnished wood of the shelves gleamed in the bright lamplight and motes of dust floated in the air, dancing in the slight draught that crept down the chimney and over the empty fire grate.

The usual quiet was disturbed today, as Draco stalked down the stairs, leading from the doorway, and across the tiled floor, his shoes tapping out a hurried rhythm. Hermione looked up from the pile of books she had been studying, surprised at his appearance. In truth she welcomed the interruption; ever since her second date with Lucius, almost three months ago now, she had been spending every spare hour she had in here—when she wasn’t reconnecting with Lucius—desperately trying to research a spell or a charm or something that would return her memories to her.

She had been surprised to learn that Lucius still kept a large collection of material and other paraphernalia relating to the Dark Arts, hidden in a store room, beneath the Manor. She had plunged herself into the dark and often disturbing world of the Dark Arts, learning all she could from dusty tomes and ancient grimoires, that Lucius had squirrelled away. Many of them were written on, or with, suspicious looking materials but she refused to think about it too much, focusing her efforts on finding Dark curses or hexes relating to the mind and memory.

Twice a week she met with Severus; as the foremost expert in Legilimency and Occlumency in the country he was helping to explore her mind, teaching her to understand its boundaries and abilities. Other ‘world experts’ in memory and mind magic had been called in as well as other, less reputable, magic users, summoned by Lucius’ former influence. Hermione had been very nervous about letting _those_ people near her but Lucius had been with her the whole time. Despite their obvious predilection for the Dark Arts, none of them had hurt her. But none of them had been able to help, either.

Draco and all her friends had been helping to search too. Fred and George were trying all sorts, even going so far as to close their shop while they researched spells. This tended to be a mixed blessing as they tried things out on themselves, and given the nature of their research they spent a lot of time not knowing who they were or what they had just done to each other. Eventually Hermione had set them a different, potentially safer, task and told them to stop blasting their brains!

Draco had been absent for a few days but he was back now and had clearly found something! The bang as the ancient book was thrown onto the table, echoed through the chamber, making the bushy haired witch jump. He didn’t speak, merely turning away and sitting on the edge of the desk, his arms folded tightly.

Hermione pulled the book towards herself, noting that it was, in fact, just half a book; the first half of the book had been ripped off, leaving some torn pages in the middle. The rest of the book was intact and she quickly found that Draco had marked a page with a long leather bookmark. Carefully, acutely aware of the book’s age, she opened it to the page indicated and began to read. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows climbing into her hairline and her heart thudding. The book was dedicated to the Dark Arts, the back cover was old skin, and she suspected _not_ from an animal. The writing was neat but the pictures, scrawled in the margins hinted of a crazed, unhinged mind. The imagery was dark and gory and Hermione felt a thread of fear work its way down her spine. It seemed that this book may hold the answer but she couldn’t quite see how.

“This… this is…” Hermione looked up from the ancient book, staring in wonder at Draco’s back. “What is this? Draco?”

The young man didn’t look around, his arms around himself, head bowed. Hermione could read the tension in his neck and shoulders; he was wound tighter than normal today. Wherever he had been, wherever he had found this book… He may have found the answer to her problems, but by the look of him it wasn’t the good news she thought.

“Draco,” she said, standing now and stepping towards him. She touched his hand and he jumped, actually jumped. “Merlin, Draco! What’s the matter?”

“Read the second page,” he said, curtly, a bitter twist to his mouth, still refusing to look at her.

Stepping back to the table Hermione turned the book towards herself and lifted the page, gently. The ancient vellum was dry and faded, starting to crack. It appeared that it hadn’t been treated for many years. Scanning down the ritual inked upon its surface, her eyes moving rapidly over the cramped handwriting, she read, searching for what had Draco so tense.

Her gasp echoed through the library and she heard an answering snort of almost-laughter from the blond wizard. “Yeah. Bit of a kicker that, isn’t it?”

“There must be another way.” Hermione shook her head in denial, desperately trying to will the words on the dried page to change. “There has to be!”

“And which expert do you suggest we call next, Hermione?” Draco spun to face her at last, anger winning out over tension. “How many other _geniuses_ is father going to summon? How many more hags to poke and prod, warlocks to question and examine? Father’s run out of favours from his past life, though he knows there are witches and wizards out there that have refused his call; those that probably have the answer, but they’re so deep into the Dark Arts they wouldn’t help another person if their life depended on it!” Draco growled in frustration. "How long before we finally give up and you’re stuck with the last three years of your life missing, apart from the occasional snippet and whatever people remember to tell you?

Hermione gazed at the floor in shame. Every person that Lucius could think of, every medical marvel that he could produce, none of them had come close to breaking the curse that Narcissa had placed upon her. She had been cursed, counter-cursed, hexed, charmed and probed with every spell imaginable, taken a variety of awful potions, and not one person could give her her memories back.

They were just… gone.

“Father’s not going to give up, you know? He’s out there almost every day, scouring the wizarding world’s dark corners, trying to drag one of these Dark magic users into the light… He’s still bitter that you remember more about the twins, but not him. It has rankled at him for some time. It’s another reason he is so keen to get your mind back!”

Hermione gave a small, sad laugh. “Yes, I can imagine that that bruise to his ego has yet to heal.”

“Hermione, this is the first hint of anything even _like_ a cure that we have found, after weeks of searching!” He jabbed a finger at the tattered book. “This is part of the book that mother used to create this curse in the first place! This ritual here is the _only_ counter spell. Do you want to live like this forever? Constantly paraded in front of expert after expert?”

“I can’t do it, Draco. I know I said I’d do whatever was necessary but… No matter what she has done I couldn’t! It says I need… it calls for… Oh Merlin, it’s awful…”

“‘The still beating heart of the witch that hath cursed thee, plucked from her chest, in the full moon’s glow. A bite of the flesh, as the witch breathes her last and thy mind shalt be returned.’ Like I said. Bit of a kicker.” Draco walked away, his footfalls echoing again in the large chamber. “To get your life back you have to take my mother’s.”

“Draco, wait!” Hermione ran after him, catching up to him in the doorway. He paused, one foot on the steps leading up and once more refused to look at her. “Why did you bring me this? You could have lost this book and we would never have known. If Lucius saw this…”

“He would already be stuffing my mother’s beating heart down your throat to get your memories back. Don’t even pretend that he wouldn’t!” Draco rounded on her, his face stiff with anger and pain. “Hermione, my father would do anything to save your marriage and he is becoming obsessed with finding some sort of cure… _any sort of cure_ … just like the one in that book.” His fists clenched and relaxed, face eyes filled with a strange combination of shifting emotions. “I don’t know why I didn’t just burn this book. I… I just don’t know.” Draco turned and walked away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I guess I want you both to be happy… “

Hermione watched him go, shocked and trying to digest everything that had happened in the last five minutes. She looked back at the book, resting on her table and she felt a chill creep down her spine. Where had Draco been to find such an awful book? Where was the rest of it? Was it possible that the other half held other clues? She didn’t know whether it would be best to destroy the book or find the rest and use it for research.

“Draco, wait!”

She caught up with him at the main entrance to the Manor and he turned at her approach.

“Draco,” she gasped, breathless from her run, “where did you find the book?

The young man looked away, a bitter look in his eyes.

“Draco, please. I want to get my life back, truly I do.” She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it hard. “But I can’t do it _that_ way. What I’ve got at the moment…”

“You mean the Pensieve and father’s memories?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, it’s nowhere near perfect. I’ve noticed that every one of his memories is coloured by his personality. They are not neutral and unbiased visions; his influence affects each one, even slightly. I need my own life back. All that I experienced, all I read. All my own personal research… I found it in the library, in a neat pile. _None_ of it makes sense to me, because I started reading it after Lucius and I married.” Hermione felt her cheeks burn and her eyes fill with tears, frustration at her perceived failure to find a cure once again gnawing at her. “Even Severus, the greatest Legilimens in the country, has been unable to find a way of curing the tear in my mind… there is literally a hole in my memory… If there is a chance that there is another book, or the other half of that one, in the same place…”

“There won’t be, Hermione. Don’t you think I checked?” Draco pulled his hand free, stepping out into the late afternoon sunshine and walking down the path.

“Please, Draco.”

The plea halted the young wizard’s feet.

Her voice was quiet, a feeling of desperation creeping over her. This was the first glimmer of hope she had really felt in weeks but it was tainted by the horror of what it would cost. This wasn’t a war, the Dark Lord was gone and peace reigned for the moment. To get her mind back… to take Narcissa’s heart… it would be murder. Cold-blooded, premeditated murder and there was no way she could do it. Lucius however…

“Please, Draco. I need to see it myself.” She stepped forward, reaching out to touch Draco lightly on the shoulder. He shrugged off her hand but didn’t walk away. “We’ll keep it from Lucius, I promise. I don’t like not telling him, but you’re right. We both know what he would do if he found out.”

Draco let out a heavy breath, staring at his feet. After a moment he nodded, looking over his shoulder at her. “Okay, I’ll take you there.”

“If we find something then we can come up with an alternative to that ritual. Maybe we can research a… a modified version or something.” Hermione stepped up besides Draco as he began walking again. “Draco, I also need a favour. I need you to do something for me.”

“You want to send me off on missions, like you do Fred and George?” Draco smiled slightly and nodded. “Sure. What do you need?”

Hermione smiled and punched his arm, thankful for his support. “I’ll explain on the way.”

Hermione’s mind was already at work with the small amount of information she had, having read the ritual. She knew that everything in the magical world could be amended, adjusted, improved; just look at that old copy of Advanced Potion-Making that Harry had had in 6th Year. Severus had made numerous notes and improvements to hundreds of potions. Surely she could find a way to improve the ritual so that it _didn’t_ require Narcissa’s death.

 

DRACO guided her to a familiar street, in Muggle London. It had taken a couple of hours to walk from the Leaky Cauldron to this narrow street and night had fallen, but the walk had given her a chance to talk to Draco at length and they were both a lot more comfortable now.

But now Draco had led her to her old flat. She cast a confused, questioning look at him but he simply walked past her, muttering, “Let’s just get inside,” under his breath.

As she stood still for a moment Hermione realised that it was unseasonably cold, especially compared to the rest of the city. After their walk she should at least be warm but there was a chill in the air that seemed to work its way through the layers of her clothes, slithering, wraith-like, down her back and making her shudder with a nameless dread. The bushy haired witch pulled her light coat closer about herself, and even though there was no breeze Hermione shivered again. All around her was still and silent; the only movement was Draco, walking towards the entrance to the building and unlocking the main door.

The street lights were off, some of them broken, but the moon rode full in the sky above them, bathing the street with its cold light. The gardens, of those houses that had one, were grey and drab, the plants long dead and the lawn gone to seed, with dead, bare patches all over. The buildings themselves were dilapidated and empty, windows broken and boarded up; it looked like the street had been abandoned for years. No lights shone in any of them, even the ones that looked in good condition still; ‘To Let’ and ‘For Sale’ boards from various Muggle agents were the only splash of colour here now.

Walking fast, not wanting to stand alone in the centre of the empty road, she joined Draco in the building. Inside, in the light of Draco’s wand, she found the stairwell full of dirt, rubbish and dead birds and cats. The stench of bodily waste hung in the air, thick and cloying. There was a low buzz, just at the edge of her hearing and that fear tickled her spine again. Gagging from the smell, Hermione pulled her coat across her mouth, unable to do anything other than follow her companion carefully up the stairs, muttering, “ _Lumos_ ,” under her breath and lifting her lit wand above her head.

Draco reached the door to her old flat and looked back at her for a moment, his eyes meeting hers, seeming to be trying to convey some kind of message. He seemed unwilling to speak—or maybe was just trying not to breathe, much like she was—but his eyes were carrying a warning… or an instruction to prepare herself.

As Draco pushed open the door, Hermione gripped her wand tightly but what she saw was so much worse than she could ever have imagined.

The harsh magical light illuminated a scene from a nightmare. Flies were everywhere, great buzzing clouds of them, rising off of the chunks of flesh that decorated the floor as the opening door disturbed their feasting. All around the room, magical runes were carved into the walls of the main living area, the floors and ceiling likewise vandalised. Even from the doorway Hermione could see the occasional, vicious epithet, as well as simple pedestrian curses and insults levelled at Hermione and Mudbloods in general, carved into the floorboards. Many items lay strewn about; vials of dark coloured liquid, books, scrolls, faecal matter, desiccated corpses and so much more, and worse. In the centre stood a large lump of stone with a flattened top; it was scarred and pockmarked with what appeared to be knife scratches. Symbols that seemed to writhe in the light decorated its surface and brown splash marks covered its top.

“What happened here?” Hermione could barely reconcile the room before her with the cosy flat she had once lived in. Even though she knew she no longer lived here, and hadn’t done for some time, it still felt like a huge violation that this had been done to her former home.

“Dark magic happened,” Draco muttered. “Seems to have driven out the Muggles on all sides too. This is where mother had hidden, a while after you moved out and married father.”

“Narcissa moved… here? Why?”

Draco moved into the room, flicking the ball of light from the end of his wand into the air. It hung near the ceiling, casting its light over the entire room. Draco waved his wand as he walked, hundreds of black flies dying with every sweep. Their tiny bodies fell to the floor, crunching lightly under Draco’s boots. “A lot of Dark magic is more powerful if cast in a place that is, or was, precious to the one you are trying to curse.” He held his arms out to each side. “This was your home for some time. It’s also a place that is _still_ in your heart, really; you wanted to come back here after you woke up.” He kicked one of the dried corpses and it disintegrated. “I believe that mother may have _wanted_ you to come back here, after the attack… with no memory of what had happened, you would walk in here and she would be able to finish you off.”

“Finish me off?” Hermione scoffed, casting her own light upwards, to join Draco’s. “Her attack almost killed me outright; there was almost no ‘finishing off’ required!”

“That’s the impression I got, from what I’ve found in here,” Draco said, gesturing at the chaos around him, the debris, the runes, and spatters of dried blood on the walls. “After deciphering several of the runes and scribblings on the pages scattered around—and some of the walls—I think she only intended on cursing you, not attacking you. She wanted your memories. I think she was not expecting us—father and I—to be home that day, when she attacked you. She planned on taking your memory, letting you return to your old home and then killing you here.”

“Why?” It came out as a whisper as Hermione struggled to comprehend the level of anger and hatred that must have twisted Narcissa’s soul to such an extent.

“The Dark curses she had prepared here would have allowed her to take your form as her own. She already has your memories and can presumably access them like they were her own; she would then have had your form, your mannerisms, and your life. She would have _become_ you. Everyone knows your past, but only you really knew your marriage. With the curse, mother had that too, neither father nor I would have known. The real you? Well, after it had been gutted on the altar,” he said, gesturing to the large stone block, “the body would have been disposed of.”

With a shake of her head, Hermione stepped into the room, walking up to Draco. “But that doesn’t make sense. Because you and Lucius were home that day her careful and delicate plan for revenge changed to a rampage? Why did she not just… try again another day?”

Draco just shrugged. “Logically, that would have been the best course of action. However, I think it took some months for her to prepare the spells and they only had a finite life to them.” With a grimace he looked around the room. “Then again, maybe it was just because she saw the two of you together, hugging and carrying on like a happy, married couple, and her jealousy and madness took over; her careful plan abandoned in an explosion of anger.”

“We need to clean this up.” Hermione stared around, knowing her words for truth but at a loss as to where to even begin. “We need to break down all of these curses and Dark rituals. The building needs to be cleansed, from top to bottom!”

“Are you sure, Hermione?” Draco nudged a shattered cat skull with his boot. “As awful as this all is, if we get rid of this…”

“Lucius can _never_ know about this place, Draco. If he learns about the ritual, that’s one thing, but if he discovers _this_ place?” Hermione shook her head, sorrow clouding her eyes. “I have no doubt that he would drag Narcissa out from wherever they took her and feed me her heart!”

“Fortunate then that I did not just have my ex-wife killed, as I had originally planned.” Lucius’ dry tone spun the pair around in shock. The tall man was stood in the doorway, the ancient book that Draco had found clutched against his chest in a white-knuckle grasp. “It seems that she will be useful to us after all. Especially with this book that I discovered, by chance, in your study, my love.”

“Lucius…” Hermione gasped, hearing Draco swear under his breath, at her side.

The elder Malfoy gave a tight smile, gesturing towards the room with his cane. “If I have read this book correctly, I believe the ritual calls for the victim to be bound in the place that she prepared her curse. Now, as there is a full moon outside, and as we are all here…” He snapped his fingers and two large, burly men in dark robes, dragged a bound and gagged Narcissa Black into the room. Lucius drew Narcissa’s knife from a hidden pocket and held it up in the light, its razor edge glinting, evilly. “We can get started.”

Dumping Narcissa to the ground the two men began kicking the debris aside, ripping the ragged curtains down to allow the moon’s light in. They swept the altar clear, dragging it so that it lay in the pool of pale light. The dazed witch barely had time to stir feebly before the men hauled her up again, pressing her, face down, onto the flat surface. One held her shoulders down while the other began light candles around the room.

Hermione and Draco turned to face Lucius, their faces identical in their horror.

“I don’t want this. Lucius please!

“Please, father, don’t do this!”

“There must be another way!” Hermione begged, reaching out to touch Lucius’ hand. “You told me, when I first woke up, that you weren’t a monster. Please, prove it now!”

Lucius snatched his hand away, a sour look on his face. “I want my wife back. If I have to carve the hearts out of a hundred witches I would do it to have you restored to me!”

“But I AM with you, my love. I’ve fallen for you all over again, Lucius. We’re building what we had.”

“But what of everything we lost? So much gone. Since you awoke you have not once called me… No matter, that pet name is gone, along with everything else.”

“But _you_ still remember, Lucius. I will learn these things again, I know it!” Hermione held her hands up before her, desperately trying to reason with the man. She knew she should be angry; their arguments were always so much more effective when she was angry. Anger wouldn’t come though, just more fear.

“I don’t want you to _learn_ , Hermione!” Lucius walked away from her, joining the men at the altar, both of them now holding Narcissa down as the woman thrashed and cried out from behind her gag. “I want things to be as they were, before _she_ tried to take you from me.”

“It will be, just give it time, please!” She pulled at his shoulder, crying out as he pulled away without looking at her. “Lucius, I’m begging you!”

Draco moved to Lucius’ side, the two men giving him cautionary looks. “Father, this is not the way. Hermione thinks…”

As that moment Narcissa gave a sudden lurch, pulling away from her captors, forcing them to struggle to hold her. Draco was knocked back as one of the men moved to hold a thrashing limb. The gag slipped, enough for the insane witch’s shrieks to become decipherable.

“Lucius, I know it all! Everything the little bitch has lost; it’s all in my head. And you will never get it back! Your lives will always be tainted by this. I know her dreams, the way she pleases you. I can do so much more! You fucking shit.” This last was directed at Hermione, Narcissa’s wild eyes boring into her heart. “You’ve lost everything. I will destroy your life. I will tear you apart, you little cunt! First you, then those two squalling brats of yours. I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them! I’LL KILL THEM!”

The bile and anger in her voice staggered Hermione like a physical blow and Lucius rounded on the two men, struggling to hold Narcissa down. “Hold her properly, you fools. We need to be quick!”

“Father, NO!” Draco pushed forward, shoving Lucius away from the altar and gripping his arm. “You are a better man now than you were before. I know it and so do you! That is all because of her,” he said, pointing to Hermione. “Don't let the good she has done for you go to waste, please.”

Hermione caught Draco’s eye and nodded, gripping her wand and holding it ready.

Lucius was not swayed by Draco’s plea, instead pushing his son aside and approaching the altar once more. “This… _woman_ has attempted to steal everything from me! Now help me or leave!” He gestured to the men and they flipped her over, moving fast and holding her firmly. One of them ripped open Narcissa’s dress, exposing her breasts, and Lucius, his hair wild and dishevelled, readied the knife.

Draco grabbed his father once more as Hermione stepped closer, very aware of Narcissa’s eyes: they hadn’t left her for some time and the light in them sent a chill of terror through the young witch.

“I will not stand by while you do this!” Draco yelled. “This is like the Battle of Hogwarts, all over again. I let one friend die there. I will not be responsible for an even worse crime! You are _not_ going to make me an accomplice in my own mother’s murder…”

“DO NOT CALL HER MOTHER!” Lucius roared, in sudden fury. He lashed out at Draco but the young man had expected this. He grabbed older wizard’s arm, pulling him off balance and away from Narcissa. Together they struggled over the knife, the younger man attempting to overpower the elder.

In that moment of distraction Hermione cast two rapid spells, jets of red light springing forth and striking the two guards, knocking them unconscious. They fell away from the altar and Hermione dashed in, dragging the bound witch off of the altar. She had no plan other than to get Narcissa away from here.

As the older witch fell Hermione noticed that her hands were no longer bound.

Narcissa surged to her feet, kicking out at Hermione and knocking her back. She lost her grip on her wand, feeling it skitter away from her. Narcissa gave a scream of anger, the sound drowning out Draco and Lucius’ struggles. Plucking a knife from the scattered debris on the floor, the crazed witch turned to face the younger again. Her hair hung around her face in ragged, black and white ringlets. In her eyes was hate and insanity; she was completely and utterly deranged, Hermione realised, and the very image of Bellatrix Lestrange, as she was when Hermione was tortured.

Hermione glanced around, desperately trying to find her wand. She saw it, just out of reach, as Narcissa fell upon her. The pair fought, yelling at each other; Hermione in fear, Narcissa the mad gibbering of the insane. Flat on her back, Hermione found the knife blade plunging towards her face and barely managed to catch a hold of Narcissa’s wrists, stopping the point inches from her face.

Struggling against each other’s strength they fought for dominance, Narcissa slowly succeeding in pushing the blade closer and closer. Hermione glanced above, along the floor, and saw her wand, just within arm’s length.

The distraction cost her.

The blade slipped downwards, dimpling the flesh of her neck and Narcissa howled in triumph as the blade started to slide home. The blade slid deeper into her neck, blood seeping from the wound. Screaming with the pain and the effort, Hermione pushed at Narcissa’s arms, trying to get the blade away, feeling it slice slowly through the skin of her throat. It left a thin, bloody cut over her collar bone, and with a twist, Hermione forced the knife away.

With a desperate cry she flung out a hand, feeling for her wand. The sudden movement jarred Narcissa and she lost her balance so that, instead of slicing Hermione’s throat, she fell forward. The knife cut deep into Hermione’s shoulder and her scream made the insane witch cackle.

At that moment Lucius succeeded in pushing Draco down, shoving him to the floor. Brandishing the knife he turned, ready to plunge it into Narcissa’s back.

Hermione found her wand and brought it to bear, thrusting it under Narcissa’s chin and forcing her head back. Abandoning her knife Narcissa grabbed for the wand too. Both witches gave an incoherent scream, equal parts fear, anger, madness and magic.

The room was filled with a concussive explosion, dirt and debris blasting upwards and the two witches spun away from each other, flying to opposite sides of the room. Hermione just had time to cry out, as she struck her head hard against the wall and the lights went out.

 

FAINT sounds began to filter through the high pitched hissing in Hermione’s ears. Her vision was dark and she could feel her stomach roil when she tried to move. Slowly her sight began to clear, lightening in stages until she could see Lucius, knelt beside her. He was speaking but it sounded like he was underwater; muffled, muted.

“Lucius,” she mumbled, the wizard helping to sit her up. Her head spun, her vision blurring alarmingly but she wasn’t sick.

“Are you okay?”

At least she could still hear, she thought to herself. She looked up into Lucius’ eyes and smiled. “Lucius, my love…”

“Hermione, are you okay?” he asked again, fear in his eyes.

“Lucius, my sweet, beautiful Lion.”

His hands stilled, frozen in shock. “What did you call me?”

“You’re my Lion…” Leaning forward she captured his face in her hands and pulled him to her, kissing him deeply. Resting her forehead against his she whispered, “Lucius… I remember everything.”

“How…?” He pulled away, staring into her eyes in wonder, his hands gripping hers.

“That blast… I don’t know, but everything is back… I remember it all!” Hermione stared up at him, a wondering laugh on her lips. “It’s still a little hazy in places… but it’s there!” She was surprised when the wizard stood and stepped away slightly.

“Prove it!” he hissed.

“What?” she said, struggling to sit up. “What do you mean prove it? Don’t you believe me, my darling?”

Lucius looked over his shoulder and Hermione followed his gaze to where a bloodied and battered Narcissa Black lay, in a crumpled heap against the opposite wall. Draco was knelt nearby, his cheekbone bleeding from a scrape, a black eye developing rapidly. Lucius looked back at his wife. “This could be a ploy simply to stop me killing her. What did I say, when you first called me Lion?”

“Why are you testing me, Lucius?”

“What did I say?” he grated.

Hermione drew herself up and pulled in an aggrieved breath. “I am _not_ a bloody Gryffindor!” She giggled suddenly, reaching out for his hand and pulling him down to her side again. She ran a trembling hand through his hair, stroking it and wondering at its softness. “You looked so regal and proud, even lying on the grass. Your mane was spread out around your head… You were my beautiful Lion and I knew I would be with you forever.”

“What did I suggest on our fifth date?” His voice was quieter; her revelation had surprised him it seemed.

“Still don’t believe me?” Hermione huffed. “You said that we would never speak of it again!” Hermione glanced at Draco and her cheeks coloured.

“What was it?” Lucius was stern but there was a light in his eyes that heartened the witch’s spirits

“I’m not saying it so Draco can hear, you git!” she muttered. Leaning forward she placed her mouth next to Lucius’s ear and whispered, “You said you wanted me to get my clitoris pierced.”

Lucius sat back, staring at her in shock. “Hermione…” he whispered. “Oh my love, you _are_ back!” Laughing in sudden delight he swept her into his arms, lifting her and hugging her close.

Hermione scolded him, telling him to stop and put her down. The room span alarmingly and she was sure that she was going to have a headache for several days after this. “Just so you know,” she said, seriously, “it’s _still_ not going to happen!”

Lucius pulled her close, kissing her hard. The kiss deepened and Hermione surrendered herself to her husband, revelling in the feel of his arms around her.

Shaking his head to clear it, Draco hauled himself to his feet. Limping to the altar he shook the two guards, rousing them from their stupor. Hermione heard him talking to them, telling them that there would be no murder here today and they would accompany him to Azkaban with the prisoner. There would be no consequences for their actions today, if they assisted him now.

“Father,” Draco said, looking to Lucius for confirmation, “I will take mo… her… I will take her to Azkaban and arrange for her to be transferred to one of the cells for the dangerously insane. She can spend the rest of her natural life there, unable to hurt anyone.”

Lucius looked at Hermione. “And what of you, my love? Do you agree?”

She nodded, pleading with her eyes until Lucius sighed and tossed his head in his son’s direction.

“Just do it,” he muttered, at last. “Get her out of my sight.”

Retrieving his wand, Draco quickly directed the men to lift Narcissa’s unconscious form between them. Holding out his hand he solemnly shook Lucius’ hand. “Thank you, father. I know this wasn’t easy.”

“Just go, my boy,” he replied with a small smile.

Draco stepped to Hermione, pulling the surprised witch into a hug. “Welcome back, Hermione,” he said. Stepping away, he joined the men, and just before he Disapparated, he looked at the bushy-haired witch, one eyebrow raised. “A clit ring? Really?” Before the shocked witch could respond, the four people vanished with a sharp crack.

Hermione gave a snort of laughter before turning to Lucius and pulling him into another kiss, letting her body meld into his, his strong arms wrapping around her and making her feel safe.

There was nothing she wouldn’t do for this man and she knew it in her heart and soul


	7. Epilogue

_Three months later…_

 

The corridors of Malfoy Manor were silent and dark, as Hermione Malfoy crept out of the rooms she shared with her husband. The Lord of the Manor was sleeping deeply and had not stirred as his wife left their bed on her habitual journey. Hermione’s bare feet made soft thuds on the floor coverings and she hissed slightly whenever the carpets ended and there was a stretch of cold marble. Over the top of her silk nightie she wore a light dressing robe that caught the air as she moved, floating in her wake.

Pools of cold moonlight lit the corridors in places and the mid-Winter full moon shone bright in the clear sky, high above the surrounding hills. The night air was cold and crisp, and despite the warming charm she had cast over herself, Hermione felt herself begin to shiver.

She was glad to reach her study, at last, the heavy door gliding open on its perfectly balanced hinges. Half inside the room, after all her haste before, Hermione paused, eyes sweeping the room for anything amiss. After a moment she turned, furtively checked the corridor outside, and then stepped inside, letting the door close softly behind her.

Though the lamps were unlit, the study was not completely dark; the fireplace had been banked by the elves before they had retired for the night and the faint glow of the coals gave the room a soft, reddish hue. In front of the fire sat Hermione’s desks, the rightmost one covered in scrolls and books; her research, started two years ago. The leftmost desk was clear, the surface carved in individual panels of differing woods.

Moving swiftly, the witch—her hair more out of control than ever, thanks to the brief sleep she had had—stepped towards her desk, set at the far end of the room, taking her wand from the pocket of her dressing robe as she walked. Facing the panelled wood of her desk she tapped it, in various places, with the tip of her wand. Each panel she tapped gave a small wiggle, and with a click, a large panel in the bookcase behind her began to swing open.

As the wall swung outwards, a soft blue glow began to brighten the room. Hermione leant against her desk, using her wand to scratch her head, yawning widely. The door was soon open, resting back against the rest of the wall to reveal a small walkway, between two stonework walls. Hermione pushed away from her desk, stepping towards the gap when a voice behind her spun her around, her heart in her throat.

“How long are you going to be doing this, Hermione?”

The low drawl came from the previously unseen figure, sat in the large armchair facing the window. The occupant stood, brushing his blond hair out of his eyes, and moving towards the witch.

“Fuck! Merlin, Draco, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Her heart was pounding and she felt her hands shake slightly as Draco approached. “Did you get it,” she said, realising what his presence here now must mean. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Draco said, waving a small envelope. “Little shit didn’t work at the hotel anymore. Had to track him down, but I found him, eventually! You’ll be getting the bill for my suit.” Draco brushed at the sleeves of his jacket, the dark material clearly worse for wear, frayed in places.

Hermione stepped towards the young man. “So… he remembered us?”

“You tip the little people well. Damn straight he remembered you!”

He handed the envelope over and Hermione pulled the handwritten letter out. The handwriting was untidy and childish, but perfectly legible over the two pages; his English was quite good too.

Hermione gave a little laugh of triumph and dropped the letter onto her desk. She turned then, walking through the narrow walkway, into the blue glow. Draco followed a few steps behind, his hands in his pockets, the very image of boredom. The chamber soon widened, and in the centre of the area stood the Pensieve that Lucius had acquired so many weeks ago now. The bowl was nearly full, the silvery liquid rotating gently under its own power. Hermione stepped past it, moving deeper into the chamber. Lining the walls on all four sides were shelves, all full of little glass vials, glowing with a silvery light that shifted and moved. Hundreds of individual memories, stored in neat rows, neat handwriting scribed upon the labels.

The shelves were divided into compartments, each compartment into several shelves. Above each compartment was a date; day, month and year in the same, neat black handwriting. The labels on the bottles also held names and, in many cases, locations; Draco, Harry, Luna, George, Dobby, Ministry, Cairo, The Burrow and many, many more. A separate compartment held vials, labelled with the name ‘Narcissa’. The vast majority of them had scribbles through them, almost making the writing illegible.

Hermione shuffled through the chamber to the far end, yawning widely. She plucked an empty vial and a label from a nearby drawer and walked back towards Draco who was stood, gazing into the Pensieve. Waving her wand Hermione caused words to appear on the label; Bakari – Egypt – Hotel. Sticking the label firmly in place she held it out to Draco. “Okay, hand it over.”

“Jeez, Granger,” Draco said with a sour twist to his mouth, automatically slipping into the old habit of using her maiden name whenever she annoyed him. “You never heard of ‘please’? The longer this goes on the grumpier you’re getting.” Using his wand Draco pulled a silvery string from his temple. Once free it clung to the tip like a limpet until he shook it gently, forcing it to drip down, into the proffered vial. Hermione smiled widely and placed the cork into the bottle. “So, how long?” Draco asked, again.

Hermione sighed, looking down at the little memory in her hand, longing to view it now but knowing that the sleeping draught she had given to Lucius would be wearing off soon; he seemed to be annoyingly resistant to them! She wanted to be back in their bed, ready to distract him when he woke up. She had found certain things that Lucius enjoyed, that made sure he never questioned _why_ he was waking up in the night, several times a week. It didn’t hurt that she liked to do those things too, of course.

“As long as it takes, Draco,” she said, quietly. “I’ve nearly gathered all the memories from the last three years. I only need a few more days’ worth, to fill in some blanks. A lot I got from Lucius; he had already half-filled the Pensieve, on our second date. The others I stole from him, through Legilimency, thanks to Severus’ tutelage.” Hermione looked around, gesturing with the memory the blond wizard had brought her tonight. “For the others, you, Harry, and the twins have been life savers in tracking the people Lucius and I met on our travels. The ones I’ve been able to get from Narcissa… well, to be honest, most of them have been proven to be mad delusions. Only one in five has actually been of any use.” She shrugged, apologetically. “I’m sorry, Draco. I’m not sure there’s actually much of your mother left inside her own head.

“And once you’ve finished?” Draco dismissed Hermione’s concern with a wave. “Once you’ve finally got all the memories you need, what then?”

“Then I really _will_ have my memory back… for real… and this whole deceit will have been worth it.” Hermione shrugged, placing the vial beside the Pensieve. She gestured for Draco to step out of the chamber, following behind him as he walked.

“All this, just to save my mother?”

“Sorry, but it has never been about Narcissa, Draco,” Hermione said, shaking her head slightly, her eyes clouded. “I could never have condoned her murder, just to retrieve my memories. We’re not at war anymore.

“Not even to retrieve your research?” Draco said with a toss of his head, back towards the study. “All those months ago, just before mother attacked, you were telling father how you had finally unlocked the key to all those dusty old books you had been trying to read. Won’t he be suspicious that you can’t remember that?”

Hermione smiled and tapped the side of her head. “I told someone else, before I left the study that day; Bossy. I was so excited about finally unlocking it that I told her everything.” She laughed and shook her head, ruefully. “Luckily I told her about the pile of research I had found in here, that it made no sense to me. She remembered enough of my excited chattering for her memory to give me a major head start.”

“Why all this deceit then? You told father that you didn’t want to use other people’s memories. I still don’t understand why the change of heart.”

“It was more about saving Lucius from his past, to stop him from slipping back into old habits. At first I asked Severus to teach me Legilimency and Occlumency as a way of exploring the mind; almost an exercise in mental control. Then I found myself starting to eavesdrop on Lucius’ thoughts, almost by accident at times. I saw thoughts that worried me, and then the night Narcissa was almost killed… I saw something in him that night that scared me and made me believe that a Death Eater still lurked under the surface.

“So, you think you can save him from himself?”

Hermione tapped the desk with her wand again, the wall gliding closed behind her. She turned to sit on the desk, gazing at the bookcase as the blue glow dimmed, and heaved a heavy sigh. “I have to, Draco.” She looked at him and shrugged. “I love him,” she said, simply. “I genuinely do—truly, madly, deeply.”

With a soft click the wall sealed closed, plunging the room into the semi-darkness of the banked fireplace once more. In the shadows Hermione rubbed the pad of her right thumb over the forget-me-not engagement ring, feeling the edges of the stone scrape across the skin. “I’m never going to forget our love, ever again.”

 

 

_The End_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> Thank you to my giftee and prompt giver, minervasrevenge! I have had such a blast writing this fic and so I wanted to give sincere and heartfelt thanks for such an amazing, detailed and thought out prompt. I have a very satisfied bunny and I hope that it meets with your approval.
> 
> Thank you also to my Cheerleader, Alpha and Beta readers: you know who you are and you are amazing! Thank you!
> 
>  
> 
> Original Prompt: Evil!Narcissa has Obliviated Hermione’s memory of the last three years of bliss with Lucius and their twins (boy and girl). Lucius must earn her love and trust all over again. Hermione accepts that they have children together; she knows in her soul that they are hers. She moves into her own bedroom, regardless. World experts have no reversal of the spell. Draco brings Hermione a possible cure but it requires Narcissa’s heart (and, subsequent death). He didn’t bring it to his father because Lucius would murder her without a second thought. How did it come about? What happens next? Does Lucius win back his wife? It’s all up to you! Happy ending, please!


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